


Coexistence

by darkcyan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Does it count as Major Character Death if the character in question sticks around afterwards?, F/M, Gen, M/M, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Post-Fourth Year Fic (sorta), Time Travel - Marauders Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-12-26 22:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 107,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18291767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkcyan/pseuds/darkcyan
Summary: During his fourth year, Harry begins to feel that something is Not Right. He studies incessantly and when Voldemort is resurrected, he knows of a spell that can get rid of the monster forever . . . unfortunately, there are side-effects . . .





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on ff.net between 2002 and 2012. I'm including my original author's notes below (and in subsequent chapters) both because they're as much a historical artifact as the stories themselves, and because they personally amuse me. :D
> 
> ==
> 
> Just a little time travel 'fic. The idea's so neat, after all.
> 
> ... I rather think this is a bit different from most. Whether that is a good or a bad thing ... I'm not precisely sure yet.
> 
> (4/15/2005)
> 
> Before you read any further, I suppose it's my duty to inform you that this story will contain slashy elements. (For those of you who have been coming here for a while, yes, I finally moved this announcement to Chapter 1.) If the idea of two people of the same gender having romantic feelings towards each other offends you, it would probably be best if you turn around now.
> 
> If you're here to see said characters going at it like rabbits, though, this story is not for you either. There is not now, nor will there ever be any sex in this story. I won't even guarantee that they'll hold hands. This fic is character-focused, and relationship-focused (and I've done my best to make sure that there's some plot in there too), but I like to think that the relationships being focused on are not always the romantic ones.
> 
> (11/26/2012)
> 
> … And for all you readers who have stuck with this story for the nearly 10 years (!) since I started posting it, and the 7+ years since I stopped – my sincerest apologies for making you wait so long, and I cannot express the depths of awe I feel at the fact that some of you are still around waiting for me.
> 
> I've gone through and made minor edits to the existing chapters – most visibly, restoring all the quotation marks that mysteriously disappeared sometime in the past seven years and removing the review responses that ffnet no longer allows. Otherwise – there may be a few sentence-level changes, but I have not materially changed the story. All the same scenes and plot threads are still there; it's still the same post-4th-year AU that it was back when I started writing, when books 5-7 didn't exist yet. (And surprising no one, the Harry Potter franchise still doesn't belong to me, either.)
> 
> Of far more interest to you all, I'm sure, is the fact that I've finally sat down and finished it. I will be posting a chapter a day from now until it ends.
> 
> So, without further ado, I present Coexistence. I hope you all enjoy reading it at least as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

Something was Not Right.

It was a feeling, almost an instinct, completely different from the Sight that Professor Trelawney claimed she had. No, this was no vision of the future, but merely a creeping sensation ... like there was someone watching from the shadows, about to strike.

He had tried to articulate this feeling, to tell his friends about his apprehension, but they hadn't understood. _"Of course you're a bit nervous, Harry."_ Ron had said. _"I would be, too. But you've survived the first two Tasks ... there's only one left! Just think, you might actually win ..."_

It wasn't nervousness about the Third Task, though. Sure, he _was_ nervous – only someone entirely stupid wouldn't be. But this feeling was different, separate ... and neither of them understood that. Ron and Hermione were his anchors in many ways, but both were too down to earth to truly _believe_ , much less understand, this nebulous impulse that drove him.

"Have you done your Herbology homework yet?" Hermione asked from somewhere behind him.

An irritable grunt. _Leave me_ alone _, Hermione! Can't you see I'm studying?_

"Just being in the Triwizard Tournament does not give you license to skip out on more mundane things like classwork." Hermione said severely, before softening. "Look, Harry ... I know you're worried, but you really need to just _relax_ for a bit. Even _I_ don't study _all_ the time."

It was the same argument they'd been having with increasing frequency – as he grew increasingly reclusive – over the past several weeks. As usual, Harry ended it by shutting his current book and standing, turning to face his friend. "My Herbology is done, Hermione. I'm fine. And I'll relax ... _after_ the Tournament is over." He headed towards the stairs. Distantly, also as usual, he belatedly felt bad about snapping at her, but … certainly _she_ of all people ought to understand the way he had recently attached himself to the stacks of books that now littered – and, at times, haphazardly spilled out of – his corner of his dorm room.

"Harry?" He stopped, turning his head partly back in her direction, though he made no verbal acknowledgment. "You dropped this." He accepted the yellowed sheet of parchment, almost crackling with age. _Must have been stuck between two pages ..._

Then he focused on the text written on the paper, and his eyes widened. _Interesting indeed!_

* * *

_I can't let him win._ As if from a distance, Harry could hear Voldemort gloating, could feel the pain at the elbow from which his blood had been taken in order to bring the monster back to life; the sudden weight in his right hand, where his wand had been placed.

"Bow." The snakelike countenance sadistically grinned. _No, not a snake. I like snakes. They may be cold, but they're also kind, after their own fashion._ It was, if possible, one of his best-kept secrets. As a Gryffindor, as the Boy-Who-Stood-Up-To-Voldemort, he was supposed to hate snakes and all they stood for, hate all the Slytherins and Voldemort, the foremost Slytherin of them all.

"No." He hated Voldemort. He greatly disliked Malfoy (both of them ... the elder was, unsurprisingly, here tonight) and Snape and ... well, all the Slytherins he knew. But just because he had never met a Slytherin he liked didn't mean there _wasn't_ one out there. Maybe.

If magic is possible, just about anything could be, right?

The lazy feeling of the Imperius Curse stole over him, dissipating all thoughts. _Bow_. A whisper, then a shout.

Those extra evenings spent with Moody (after he began feeling that Something was Not Right) stood him in good stead. Staring straight into those red eyes _(Gryffindor colors ... weren't they once green?)_ , he reiterated. "No."

For a moment, nothing happened, almost as though time had briefly frozen. Then, as one,

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

" _Kawo Kedavre!"_

Had Hermione known what was on the parchment, she most likely would never have returned it to him. The Soul Shredding Curse, _Kawo Kedavre_ , was magic at its darkest – a very closely relative to the Killing Curse.

In many ways, it was worse, as it not only killed the body – which Voldemort had, after all, proven it was possible to bounce back from – but utterly annihilated the soul of the person it was cast on.

Perhaps fortunately, it had also never been terribly popular, even among those Dark Wizards who would delight in such things, because of a couple of significant drawbacks:

For one, it was _very_ powerful magic. Only the greatest of wizards had the ability even to consider casting the spell. This was not something that could be thrown around by anyone with slightly higher than average magical ability the way its sister spell, _Avada Kedavra_ , could. Even as the words left his lips, Harry still wasn't certain it would work – but it was the best chance he'd found.

And the reason the Dark Wizards with enough basic power themselves didn't use it – it required self-sacrifice. In order to work, the wizard casting it had to draw such immense power from themselves that their body crumbled instantly into dust. Worse, as far as he had been able to tell, no one knew what happened to the soul of the caster.

It could be sent onward to what Professor Dumbledore called "the next great adventure"; it could be doomed to eternally wander the Earth, bereft of even the form taken by ghosts; every source he had managed to find that discussed the curse (though there weren't many) had their own theories, each as completely lacking in solid proof as the next.

Remembering how Voldemort had possessed Professor Quirrell in his first year, and figuring that he would almost certainly be back eventually, probably using the same trick, Harry had made a point of learning the spell.

It was, after all, his purpose to defeat Voldemort. It may not be what he had been born for, but it was what he had Lived for. If only the Dark Lord's body was destroyed, he'd return eventually – experience ought to have taught the world that. Only if his soul was destroyed would this end.

If Harry had to give his life for Voldemort to be killed, so be it. His mother and so many others had given their life just trying to keep Voldemort at bay. It was time the Light Side went on the offensive.

If Voldemort died and the magical world was left in peace, Harry would be at peace too, wherever – and in whatever condition – his own soul ended up.

Shuddering, the cores of their wands reacted against each other, drawing a line of glowing gold between their tips. Voldemort's eyes had gone impossibly wide. "Boy, do you have any idea what you have done?"

"I've defeated you." _I hope._ Yet the bead of light was progressing towards Harry; his doubt as to his ability to pull this spell off was hurting his efforts. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make up for his lack of confidence with sheer determination, and slowly all those doubts drifted away, leaving only cold calm logic in control. He thought of this as the "snake side" of his personality, where the world narrowed to himself, his target, and his conviction that he would be the one to prevail.

The bead, which had been moving steadily, if slowly, in Harry's direction, shuddered to a stop.

_Voldemort must die. It's the only way._ Emotion intruded, an icy anger that reinforced rather than weakened his "snake" side.

_Because my parents ... and all the other parents ... and all the other children and adults that might have eventually become parents shouldn't have died._

_Because Neville's parents shouldn't be lying mad in St. Mungo's while their son muddles his way through school, unable to find confidence in himself._

_Because ... Cedric ..._

* * *

Although the students were for the most part unaware of the disaster that had occurred, most of the teachers knew. Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory had vanished, portkeyed out of the center of the maze to no-one-knew-where.

Even if he hadn't been privy to that news, he would have known that something was going on the moment the Mark started to burn. Striving to maintain his usual determined stride, he made his way over to Dumbledore. "News, Severus?" It had been a long time since he had seen his mentor quite so clearly look his age.

"Nothing." He winced as particularly nasty pang shot through his arm; out of habit cast a quick glance around to make sure no one was in clear eavesdropping range. "But ... the Mark ..."

Dumbledore's eyes widened. "Go, Severus."

Without another word, he rushed away. Taking all the shortcuts that had become second-nature all those years before, he soon arrived at the edge of the wards. Rolling back his sleeve, he stared for a moment at the lividly black mark on his arm, an unreadable look on his face. Then, after one unnecessarily deep steadying breath, touched a finger to the Mark and Apparated.

The momentary blackness of Apparition cleared away, leaving him looking around at an unfamiliar graveyard. _Seems like nearly fifteen years as a phantasm hasn't changed his tastes any._

And there was the Dark Lord _reborn he's alive again shit_ and there the brat Potter. A line of light had formed between their wands _he gave Potter back his wand? What was he thinking?_ along which a bead of gold traveled.

Potter's face was cold, distant ... but his eyes, even through the twilit scene, burned.

"What's going on?" He demanded of the nearest cloaked figure, keeping his voice low.

"Severus." Lucius Malfoy. Of course. "How nice to see you made it after all."

He tapped a foot. "Cut to the chase, Lucius. What have I missed?"

"Well, as you see ..." the aristocrat nodded towards the taller of the two figures, "our lord has been reborn, using the bone of his father, the flesh of one of his loyal followers –" a sneer in the direction of a familiar man with an unfamiliar – brand new, of course – shiny silver hand.

Snape sneered too. _Wormtail. The sniveling bastard._ He knew the potion, of course. "And blood of an enemy, unwillingly taken." There, from Potter's right elbow, running down his arm, a trail of red that dripped into a small, but slowly growing puddle. Despite himself, Snape was slightly impressed. _He acts as if he doesn't even feel the pain, and it must be bad ... especially to someone like_ him. _Spoiled brat._

"Precisely." Lucius smirked. "Then our Lord gave him back his wand – 'fair fight' and all that – and told him to bow. Even cast the Imperius Curse on him, but the accursed boy threw it off as if it were nothing." How unfair – now Snape had to feel even more impressed. Not many could do as well.

"And?"

"Our Lord cast the Killing Curse at him, of course. But at the same time the boy cast some strange spell – Cow Oh Kedavra? – the spells met, and this happened." Lucius shrugged. "So now we're waiting for our Lord to triumph."

Snape froze. Not for nothing had he had the reputation of knowing more curses entering Hogwarts than most seventh-years – and his knowledge since then had only grown, even as he turned his attention primarily to his one love, potions making, instead.

He was actually surprised that Lucius – who, he heard, had had a similar reputation, and who hadn't had a love of Potions to distract him – didn't know of the curse. More likely, he had come across it once, looked at the consequences, and dismissed it entirely from his memory. That _would_ be like the blond aristocrat. " _Kawo Kedavre?"_ He whispered, a morbid need to be sure taking hold.

"Yes, that's it." Lucius replied dismissively.

Snape closed his eyes. _Oh, Potter ..._ There was almost no point in remaining; either way, the boy would be dead ... or worse. _What possessed you?_

Yet, he had a feeling he knew. _Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived_. The boy who defeated Voldemort –although he hadn't. Once Voldemort returned to the public eye, the boy who would have been expected to defeat him once and for all. The boy who was poster child and figurehead for the cause of the Light. The boy _who had just cast one of the darkest spells in the history of wizardry._

_How could he not feel that it was his responsibility to do anything and everything he could to stop Voldemort?_

Snape bowed his head and mourned the child who had been weighed down by the world's expectations ... and hadn't really been _so_ arrogant as he had always made out the boy to be ... and had somehow pulled through. The boy who might just succeed in accomplishing a task that many men had failed.

He watched as the bead, wavering in first one direction, then the other, began moving steadily towards Voldemort. He leaned forward in anticipation, much like the rest of the Death Eaters surrounding the two. Only he was rooting for the opposite side.

Suddenly, Potter smiled. A truly happy smile that impressed on Snape just how rare an occasion it was, that Potter smiled like this.

With ears accustomed to listening for the slightest change in a fire's roar, the precise instant a mixture began to boil, the exact moment to interrupt a conversation in order to maximize the embarrassment of both students, it's possible that only Snape heard.

For a moment that seemed to last an eternity, the bead hovered on the edge, almost touching Voldemort's shaking wand. "Mum ... Dad ... I'm coming ..." Potter whispered.

The bead touched Voldemort's wand, and the line of golden light flashed _unbearably bright_ to the deepest of blacks – the color of the Soul Shredding Curse.

Voldemort began to scream, a horrific sound that climbed up and up until it passed the registers in which ordinary humans could hear, until only his open mouth and tensed muscles testified to the fact that he continued to scream.

Abruptly, his body fell slack, striking the ground with a muffled thump, as if the soul powering the body had fled. Well, in a way it had – only far more permanently. _Congratulations, Potter. You did it._

Later, Snape would wonder where Potter had found that darkest of Dark spells; would find that scrap of paper wedged between the pages of one of the books on charms and hexes that stacked the boy's corner of his dorm room. Later Hermione would remember picking it up and handing it back to her friend without first looking at what it was; would remember how momentarily shocked Harry had seemed when had taken his first real look at it. Later the world would mourn the death of a boy who had done what many men could – or would – not.

Now, he just watched, silently, a faceless member of a crowd of Death Eaters, the only witnesses.

And Harry Potter, yet again saviour of the wizarding world, still smiling peacefully, disintegrated.

* * *

Beneath his eyelids _how do I still have eyelids? I've crumbled into dust or I was supposed to please tell me the spell worked right_ blackness, occasionally interrupted by disorienting swirls of color.

– _looking into a mirror and seeing the face of a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle staring back –_

– _howling with pain as the moon took over and transformed me into a wolf, as my father –_ Remus? _– watched worriedly –_

– _eleven years old, being sorted into Gryffindor –_

– _Slytherin – Ravenclaw – rarely Hufflepuff –_

– _lying in bed, secure in the knowledge that there's someone near me who loves me more than life itself –_

– _Hermione –_

– _Ginny –_

– _Cho –_

– _Ron –_

– _Malfoy –_

– _An endless array of other faces, flitting by too quickly to catch –_

– _SeeingHearingSmellingTasting –_

– Feeling _–_

Too much. His eyes _how can I have eyes? But I do_ snapped open, staring into the dark, marked by a light _Hagrid's cabin I'm back at Hogwarts what's happening_ and the soothing light _peaceful too peaceful_ of the full moon _thank Merlin I'm not a werewolf still – oh right I never was_.

_:Who are you?:_

A small voice in the back of his head; a feeling that he was not alone in a way that transcended the fact that there was no other person nearby.

The feel of familiar folds of cloth surrounding him; his Invisibility Cloak.

"Who are you?" He asked, returning the question to the small voice. "What's going on?"

_:I asked first.:_ Petulant. Scared. Why? _:Who_ are _you, and what do you want with my body?:_

So he had taken over the body of another? How could he return it? _:I don't know ... it all happened so fast ...:_ He was barely conscious of himself replying to the still-nameless voice. _I did it._ Whatever had happened to put him in this place, he knew it had to do with that spell. _I finally did it. He's gone. Forever._ With that thought came some triumph, yes, but mostly a deep, abiding peace.

_:He did it!:_ For a moment, Harry thought the voice was responding to his inner monologue. _:The greasy git took the bait!:_ Or not. Looking around to try and figure out what the source of the voice's comment, Harry found his eyes focused on a black figure making its way across the lawn in the direction of a very familiar tree.

Greasy git. Whomping Willow. Full moon. Why did that combination sound familiar to him?

And then he knew.

_:Sirius:_ But why would he have his father's Invisibility Cloak when his father was not around? And although fifteen years would certainly wreak many changes, the mental voice hadn't sounded quite familiar enough ...

_:No, I'm James ... waitaminute, how did you know Sirius' name?:_

_:Aren't you going to save him?:_

This was all so terribly, horribly wrong.

_:Save the greasy git? Are you_ kidding _? I was planning on watching!:_

No.

Almost before his conscious mind had a chance to catch up, Harry (James?) was on his feet, running across the ground; its light dusting of snow crunching under his feet. _No. I'm not letting anyone else die tonight._

_:What are you doing?! Stop it!:_

He was going to be too late. Snape held out a long stick, obviously selected for the purpose beforehand, reached and prodded the knot. With a shudder, the Willow went still. Tossing the stick aside, he approached the opening in the trunk, and _Harry wasn't going to get there in time_.

"Wait!" He called, a distraction for that crucial last second or so, throwing himself at Snape in a flying tackle that knocked him away from the tree and the deadly secret it hid. Underneath them, the stick broke.

For a moment, Snape lay spread-eagled on the ground, the breath that had been knocked out of him only beginning to come back, with Harry perched on top and almost as out-of-breath. "Potter." Snape choked out. _His_ voice, Harry noted distantly, was the nearly same. "What are you playing at?"

Behind them, safely far enough away that neither was in danger, the tree began once again to move. "Remus Lupin is a werewolf. That's the secret you've been searching for." _:How did you know that?! Why are you telling him?! Are you mad?!:_

Snape was smart; he drew the correct conclusion almost immediately, with no more than a glance at the full moon hanging overhead. "I could have been killed!"

"Precisely." Harry said grimly. "And, however little I like you, no one else should have to die tonight." _:Cedric ... I will never forget.:_

He stood, bent and offered a hand to pull Snape up. "Please don't tell anyone. If not for James and Sirius' sake, then for Remus'. He had no idea that the other two were planning ... this." A world of disgust and disappointment in his voice as he waved in the direction of the tree.

Snape hesitated. Finally, unwillingly, he nodded. "You saved my life; I suppose I owe you that much." Harry began his trek back towards the main building, the Slytherin following closely. At the steps he ducked to pick up the Invisibility Cloak, though he did not put it on yet.

"You're not Potter." The other boy's voice caught him by surprise; the sentiment, he supposed, did not. Enemies knew each other practically as well as friends, after all, if in a rather different light. "Who are you?"

Unwilling to answer, Harry swirled the Invisibility Cloak around his body _James' body this is so weird so wrong_ and disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be leaving modern notes on every chapter, but I continue to be amused by just how long and detailed my author's notes used to be. 
> 
> ==
> 
> As does pretty much the entirety of Harry Potter fandom, I despise Wormtail as he was written in canon. Having started this story before book 5 came out, I was determined to, despite that opinion, write him as a real character; I was convinced that someone who was a full Marauder and, among other things, capable of becoming an Animagus at 16 had to have more depth to him than his adult self showed.
> 
> Turns out book 5 proved me pretty thoroughly wrong on that account. So I guess my Peter is lucky that I started writing this before it came out. In this story, Peter has always been, and will continue to be, a real character.
> 
> The braid is not a full one, but one of those itty-bitty little ones at the nape of the neck that are a lot longer than the majority of the hair. I think I made that clear enough ... I hope ...
> 
> Erica Brown is my own invention and most likely Lavender's aunt. Just in case anyone was curious. I'm pretty sure J. K. Rowling owns the rest, though. I'm just borrowing them ... and messing with their heads ... probably traumatizing them for life ...
> 
> Anyway!
> 
> (6/30/2003) Not much changed. Finally got around to correcting the half-and-half mistake ... and, now that I know the actual color, James' eyes. I think that's it.
> 
> (11/26/2012) As mentioned in chapter 1: minor edits. Also updated the author's note to make more sense in a post-book 5 world.

Waking up to cheerful – and precious, given its infrequency at this time of year – sunlight, he stretched. _Mm ... It's so nice to have my body back._ Last night ... had been one of the most horrifying nights he had ever lived through. Being suddenly shunted to the back of his own mind, unable to move ... unable to do anything!

At least it was over now.

He sat up, groping towards the bedside table for his glasses. "Sleeping beauty! Awake at last!" Putting the glasses on, he turned towards his best friend (and, rumor had it, long-lost brother), Sirius Black; face rapidly developing a matching grin. "How did it go?" Though that certainly caused the grin to disappear even more quickly.

"How did what go?" Peter Pettigrew, a somewhat stocky boy with blond hair, asked, as he wandered back into their shared room from the bathroom looking about as sleepy as James felt. "I thought you two stayed back here so that you could work on homework. What were you not telling me?"

Sirius – who, to lend credence to the lie, _had_ stayed in the common room until quite late working on homework – looked from Peter to a now-solemn James and back. "Wait, did he not take the bait?"

"Who?" Peter was pulling at the tiny braid that fell from the nape of his neck nearly to his waist, a sure sign that the mild-mannered young wizard was becoming annoyed.

James gritted his teeth. "Oh, Snape took the bait all right. But then some evil raving maniac spirit possessed my body and saved him _and_ told the greasy git Remus' secret."

 _:Evil raving maniac? Sorry to disappoint you, but I was not only quite sane, but on the side of the Light, last time I looked:_ A voice in the back of his head sniped. _:And it's certainly not_ my _fault I'm trapped with you.:_

"This isn't about the duel on Saturday, is it?" Peter asked suddenly, eyes suspiciously narrowed. "Look, I know I'm not as good at hexes as you two, and I'm certainly not as smart as Remus, but I _can_ take care of Snape myself. What were you trying to do anyway? Kill him?"

 _:Amazing ... I'm impressed.:_ The voice deadpanned. _:Certainly more impressed than I am with you or Sirius. Does the life of a human being really mean so little to you?:_

Peter evidently saw the answer in their not-exactly-repentant faces. "I see." His grip on the braid was white from the force with which he was holding it. "If the spirit's still there – although I assume it's not, given that you're clearly yourself – tell him or her I appreciate it."

 _:Tell Wormtail it's the least I could do.:_ The voice replied promptly.

"He said it was the least he could do." James repeated rather mechanically. It had only just really hit him that the voice was, indeed, still there. His eyes widened suddenly. "... and he called you 'Wormtail' ..."

"Probably dug around in your memory." Peter airily dismissed his friend's concern – as though the idea that the spirit might be able to _read minds_ wasn't even more unnerving. "What's your name?" And somehow, James knew that Peter was not speaking to him, but to the nameless entity.

 _:Nameless entity? That's better than 'evil raving maniac', at least._ Can _I dig around in your memory, do you think? Perhaps I'll try later ...:_ There was a nearly audible hesitation. _:I'm Harry.:_

* * *

_:Tell him.:_

_:No.:_

_:Tell him.:_

_:No!:_

_:Tell him!:_

_:NO!:_

_:TELL HIM!:_

_:FINE!:_

James jolted out of his seat, muttering curses under his breath.

"Hm?" Sirius looked up briefly from his food, still chewing. "Where're you goin'?"

"I'll be right back." James gritted, stalking away.

Peter smiled. "Bet you it has something to do with Harry." None of them had been able to convince the spirit to give them a last name, so for now he stayed 'just Harry'.

Sirius watched his friend angrily stalking in the direction of the Slytherin table, somewhere he'd never willingly go – unless it was part of a prank, of course. And he was _never_ that angry when pulling off a prank (not to mention, Sirius would be outright insulted if any plans to prank Slytherin ever failed to include him). "No bet, Wormtail."

* * *

On the other side of the Great Hall, James reached his goal, addressing himself to the back of a very familiar black head. "Snape. A word."

The black-haired Slytherin turned around and slowly blinked. Shook his head. Rubbed his eyes. Blinked again. The person that looked and sounded eerily like Potter, his nemesis, was still there. _If I was taking any hallucinatory drugs, I'd swear them off right now._

"Well?"

"What do you want, Potter?" So much for the vaunted Snape eloquence. Oh well. Perhaps he could blame it on his near-death experience the previous night – which situation had been _caused_ by a certain Gryffindor in the first place ...

"A. Word." Whatever had brought his nemesis over to the Slytherin table, he obviously was no happier about it than Snape. "Now. Alone." Before he could shake off the sheer surreal aspects of the situation enough to react at all, much less protest, Potter grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him away.

Of course, as soon as they were far enough away, Potter dropped his wrist like a hot poker. _Probably thinks it's as greasy as my hair._ A bitter thought, aimed more at his image in general than what Potter in particular thought – who cared about _that_ , after all? "His name is Harry."

Blink. "Huh?" No, as far as eloquence went, today was most definitely not his day. Then again, today didn't seem to be Potter's day as far as comprehensibility was concerned, either, so maybe it all evened out.

"The stupid spirit. Who took over my body. And saved your life. Last night. Is named. Harry." Potter was obviously hanging onto the final shreds of his patience with his fingernails. "And now that I've told you that, maybe he'll _leave me the_ bloody hell _alone!_ " Business apparently concluded, the Head Boy stalked away.

"Harry." A small smile played across his face as he committed that name to memory. _I owe you one, Harry. It is a wizard's debt ... and someday I_ will _find a way to pay you back._

* * *

_:Anyone else you want me to babble your presence to? Maybe I should just go straight to Dumbledore!:_ A pause. _:Actually, that's not a bad idea. Maybe the Headmaster would know how to get rid of you.:_

 _:Simply spiffing idea.:_ Harry agreed affably. _:You're not the only one chafing from this associ ... a ... tion ...:_ He trailed off into silence.

"Why so stormy, dear?" His girlfriend of nearly three years, Lily Evans, approached, giving him a short kiss of greeting.

 _:Erk.:_ Harry whimpered in the back of his mind.

James brightened. "Nothing at all, darling Lily. Not so long as you're around." He didn't know exactly why his girlfriend's presence caused such an extreme reaction from the spirit, but hey! Whatever worked. Maybe he'd finally have some peace within his own head again.

"What prank are you planning now, James?" His girlfriend watched him through narrowed eyes. "I love you too, but I don't trust you when you're this happy."

"Nothing at the moment." He murmured absentmindedly, for once using that phrase truthfully. Thought of pranks, though, brought inevitably to mind his spectacular failure the previous night. "Let's not talk of pranks now. How did you do on your Charms homework?"

Ever ready to talk about her favorite subject, Lily gave him only one more suspicious look before launching into a long, detailed monologue. He just let her beautiful voice wash over him and reveled in the feeling of being almost alone in his head.

* * *

Morning passed into afternoon and afternoon into evening. Harry had gotten over the shock of meeting Lily to a certain extent, but was still somewhat quieter and less argumentative than he had been previously.

Sunset saw the available Marauders – James, Sirius, and Peter – gathered along with Lily and her best friend, Erica Brown, around a table in the common room. The two girls were regarding the three boys with complete disbelief, having just been informed of James' ... visitor.

"So you're saying that there's some sort of ghost possessing James?" Erica asked Sirius – who had done the majority of the storytelling – doubtfully. "Are you sure this isn't just another of your pranks?"

 _:The Boy Who Cried Wolf:_ Harry snickered.

_:What?:_

_:Never mind. It's a Muggle thing.:_

"I'm in full control ... now. He was evidently in full control last night." A sour face. The boys had all glossed rather quickly over what James had been doing the previous night that had prompted Harry to take control, just mentioning that the spirit had done so. While they knew for a fact that the girls liked Snape and the band of Slytherins he ran with as little as they themselves did, they also knew that the girls – Lily especially – would rather vocally disapprove of the methods employed. Not to mention the web of other secrets that would unravel if they started getting into how they knew that there was a werewolf accessible by taking a secret passageway underneath the Whomping Willow.

"And his name is Harry." Lily said. "What else do we know about him?"

"He's Muggleborn." James supplied, surprising the others.

"How do you know?" Peter asked.

"He was just nattering at me about some random Muggle quote. A boy who said 'wolf' or something like that."

"The Boy Who Cried Wolf?" Lily asked, then giggled. "Considering your reputation for pranking, it is really quite an appropriate quote. Good one, Harry."

_:I'm not Muggleborn, actually. My mum was; my dad was a wizard. But I was raised by my Muggle relatives.:_

"Actually, it turns out that it's his mother that was Muggleborn – his father's a wizard – but he was evidently raised by his Muggle relatives." James faithfully passed on to his waiting audience. _:Anything else you'd like to share?:_

"What does he look like?" Erica asked curiously, leaning forward.

 _:Look in a mirr-aaahhhh!:_ Harry's voice in his head was abruptly cut off. It sounded almost like the spirit was in pain ...

"Aaahhhh!" James clutched at his head. Pain that he had ever so generously decided to share with James, evidently ...

"James!"

"Prongs!"

"Harry?"

" 'M fine." James groaned. "Merlin, that felt like when my scar hurts."

"What scar?" Lily asked, puzzled.

"Something you haven't told us?" Sirius had grown up with James; they had shared in nearly every escapade and never, as far as he knew, had James been scarred.

James raised his head and everyone recoiled. His eyes, no longer their ordinary, nondescript hazel, were a blazing emerald a shade or two darker than Lily's. "This scar." He raised his bangs, baring to the rest of the group a long thin white line shaped like lightning decorating his forehead.

Although it had only been a wild guess when he had said the name before, now Peter was sure. He leaned forward. "You're Harry, aren't you."

"Yes. Please, don't ask what just happened; I have no more clue than any of you."

"You look a lot like James. But smaller." Erica commented.

The boy smiled, and the change was immense. "I keep hoping I'll start growing someday ... though I suppose that's too much to ask for, now." A wry look.

"What happened to you?" Lily asked. "Maybe if we know that, we can figure out how to get you back where you belong."

A thoughtful frown. "I wouldn't bet on it. I'm pretty sure that my body disintegrated. As I'm sure you've guessed, I'm supposed to be dead." He stretched backwards. "I used a spell – no point in telling you what, since you wouldn't recognize it" _although Snape might ... I wouldn't put it past him_ "that required the sacrifice of the caster's life; no documentation I could find ever figured out what happened to the caster's soul."

He examined his fingernails, rather rough but surprisingly clean. "I guess now I know."

 _:Were you_ insane _?:_

Sirius reiterated James' question, and added, "What is worth willingly throwing your life away like that?"

"Have any of you heard of Voldemort?" Harry's face froze, but his eyes burned.

"Don't say that name!" Sirius hissed.

Incongruously, that relaxed Harry's face, bringing back something that resembled another smile. _:The more things change ...:_

_:What are you talking about?:_

_:Nothing. Everyone back home used to have that reaction too. It just ... amused me.:_

"There's your answer. Besides, isn't foolhardy suicidal risk-taking a Gryffindor trait?"

"That's bravery." Sirius corrected.

Harry gave a deliberately nonchalant shrug. "Isn't that what I said?"

* * *

As the night wore on, it became clear that Harry's obvious presence had put a damper on the usual evening activities of the other two Marauders present. In the case of Sirius, largely because he was more interested in tag-teaming with Lily on trying to convince Harry to tell them more of the future he came from – particularly, the eventual fate of Voldemort. Knowing, though, that he had probably already revealed too much, Harry kept stubbornly silent. Peter and Erica were mostly quiet as well, observing.

Eventually, the two gave up in disgust and the five Gryffindors began to make their ways up to bed. Harry suspected that usually, this was when the Marauders would have begun to plot or execute their next prank in earnest, but between the presence of an outsider – Harry – and the fact that any consultation of James would require going through him, nothing happened.

Harry lay back in the bed – he had been surprised, last night, to learn that James' bed was where his would be someday – hands tucked behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. This day had been ... strange.

 _Sirius._ It was so heartbreaking to see his godfather this way, so much younger and happier than the brittle man he knew. Yet he could still see in this Sirius the fanatical loyalty to those he loved and the strong protective instinct that would someday cause him to go nearly mad at the betrayal of one of those he trusted so deeply, the protectiveness that would cause him to lash out at Peter and, later, would hurt him so when he realized how much of Harry's life had gone by without him there.

Sirius was very similar to himself, but not nearly as ... shadowed as the man Harry knew. This Sirius knew how to laugh, and for that Harry was grateful. If he ever returned home ...

No. It was beyond all reasonable hope that he even still existed, as warped and vicarious as this life might be. To think that he might ever return to the life he knew before was frankly impossible. He refused to even entertain the notion, as it would only hurt him, make him even more homesick than he was already.

 _Peter_. The betrayal burned ... but how could he hate this young man? He had tried. When he first looked upon the traitor and realized that that was who he was looking at, he _had_ tried. But he just couldn't. He couldn't see the whiny little rat of a man that had begged at their feet for his life, not in this proud young man who willingly told off his friends when he thought they had done something wrong.

This Peter was one he thought he would be proud to call friend; he certainly liked him a great deal more than either Sirius or James at this point. What had changed him so?

 _Lily_. She was ... wow. Really special. And stunningly beautiful, at least to Harry's eyes. She was everything he had ever imagined his mother might be like; smart and funny and charming and gentle and loving. James didn't deserve her.

Still, that kiss ... ew. Even being a silent observer in the back of James' head instead of an active participant, watching his body kiss his mother like _that_ was really, really _wrong_.

Good Lord. Suddenly, he had a perfect reason for wanting to get out of this situation. If just _kissing_ Lily felt this wrong, he _really_ didn't want to be around by the time James and Lily got married.

 _James._ His 'other self'. His _father_. Who had actively participated in Snape's near murder ... and who _hadn't_ realized his error. If Harry hadn't appeared, Snape may very well have died. And however little Harry liked his irritable Potions professor, he certainly didn't want the man to die. No, Harry did not have a very high opinion of his father right now, although he also realized that he was perhaps depending more on his strongly negative first impression than he probably ought.

James was loyal to his friends, after all, an admirable quality ... even if he displayed that loyalty in ways that Harry virulently disapproved of. Above and beyond the fact that Harry didn't see attempted murder as a valid way to solve one's problems (Voldemort being a notable exception) ... if James had really wanted Snape dead that badly, he should have had the courage to do it himself. _Not_ just sit by and wait while his friend – one of his _best_ friends, for Merlin's sake! – did it at a time when he had no control of himself.

 _Remus!_ That was who he had been missing – he had completely forgotten about the fourth Marauder. The full moon had been last night; surely he ought to be back by now. Then again, none of the others seemed worried ... but ...

He levered himself out of bed, listening with satisfaction to the snores coming from two of the other three beds ... and even from the back of his head. He spared a brief moment wondering how James could be snoring when he wasn't actually _breathing_ – Harry was in charge of that particular involuntary function right now – before shrugging it off in favor of more important concerns. Opening James' trunk, he was pleased to see the Invisibility Cloak folded up on top right where he had left it, picked it up, put it back on, and padded out of the room as quietly as he could manage. He had a werewolf to visit.

* * *

_Hot ... so hot ..._ He tossed the threadbare blanket off, baring the legs and lower half of his torso that were all he had managed to cover as he fell into bed that morning, exhausted and in pain as usual.

He had smelled and seen the Rat last night, but not the Dog or the Prey. _Peter_. He insisted muzzily to himself. _Sirius. James. My friends. So cold ..._ He shivered convulsively, curling up into as tiny a ball as he could manage.

A warm weight drifted down on top of him; gentle hands tucking the edges of the blanket closer. He knew academically that this was just another hallucination – they were common when the fever was at its worst the day after he transformed, and this sort of tender care was far from an uncommon theme. It was like his parents were tucking him in for the night, a comforting homey feeling that he hadn't experienced since he had been bitten – despite the information they had been given about his condition, his parents had always feared it was somehow contagious.

Despite how hard he tried to stop them – not all that hard, considering the shape he was in – a few tears leaked out through the corners of his closed eyes. It was only a dream. Only a dream. His friends were wonderful, but they would never do this for him ... he had made certain they never knew just how hard the transformations were on him.

Warmcool fingers wiped the tears away, touched his forehead briefly. If only this were real ...

No. He didn't want this to be real, because if this were real, he would have to push whoever it was away. He was dangerous. He couldn't allow anyone near him. Not now, not ever. He already feared that he had done irreparable damage by becoming as close to the other Marauders as he had become.

He was a werewolf; he could never allow anyone close to him, close enough to cuddle, to have another warm presence beside him, to have someone who would care for him as he would care for them. It had to be a dream.

"Remus?" A gentle soft voice, alto or tenor. "Oh, Remus ..." The voice sounded sad. For him? Why?

An immense effort; the fingers of his left hand twitched. That same logical corner of his mind from before noted that he appeared to be in a worse state than usual.

"Remus?" A note of hope. Really, this was a very realistic hallucination. "Remus, can you tell me which of these potions you need to take?"

Potions. Potions. _Ah!_ That's why it was worse than usual. Which did he need to take? He tried to overcome the fuzziness that filled most of his mind. The wonderful hallucination wanted something from him, so he needed to tell it. "All ..." His voice cracked; he could feel a migraine coming on from the effort, something he usually managed to avoid because he didn't usually have to think.

"All five?"

"Mm." He tried to sound as affirmative as he could. What else did the hallucination need to know? "Red ... first ..."

"All right." Almost immediately, there was a cup at his lips, a gentle hand lifting his head, the sickly-sweet liquid running down his throat as he convulsively swallowed. The potion went into effect as quickly as it always did, and he felt his head beginning to clear.

As his head cleared, he knew that now that he could think properly again, the hallucination would disappear, and that knowledge was almost enough to drive him back to those tears of self-pity he had shed before. Yet ... the next potion, and the next ... and the hand supporting his head only briefly disappeared between the potions before reappearing. Always reappearing.

A fever dream, then. Those, too, were common. He felt recovered enough now to open his eyes, if still tired ... always tired ... But not tired enough that he was willing to miss the chance to see what sort of person his subconscious had dreamt up.

"Merlin, Remus, you scared me! You were so still ..." Messy black hair and lightish eyes and large glasses. _James? Why would I dream fever dreams about James?_

"James?" He propped himself up on one of his elbows, wincing as he rubbed a scrape the wrong way and his sore muscles – which, to be fair, was pretty much all of them – protested. He could dull the pain with his potions, but not get rid of it entirely; he just wasn't that good yet. "Where were you and Sirius last night?"

The fever dream James stiffened, his face hardening into an expression hardly ever worn by the real James. "Sirius was evidently back in the common room studying." The voice was ... off. Soothing, wonderful, the voice of his beautiful hallucination, yes ... but not the voice of James. In addition to being somewhat higher in pitch, it was also too soft, too quiet, too well modulated. The voice of someone accustomed to solitude, to avoiding or being ignored by the spotlight.

"James was not too far away, actually. Eagerly anticipating watching you rip Snape's throat out."

Only the persistent pain in his muscles prevented him from bolting upright. "Snape? What was Snape doing anywhere near here?" _Please oh please let it not be true just a dream just a dream thank Merlin it's just a dream ..._

"Either James or Sirius – on that point, I'm not absolutely certain – evidently told Snape how he could get through the Whomping Willow."

He squeezed his eyes shut. _No! Nonononono! I'm not a murderer please I'm not I didn't mean it why don't I remember I didn't want to murder anyone oh please it's just a dream whywhywhy?_ Those hands, so gentle when tending to him, shook him roughly, snapping his eyes back open and his gaze back to the fever dream's face.

Focusing straight into fever dream James' ... green ... eyes. Deep green eyes that told a story of worry over him. Him! _Why? Not only am I a werewolf, now I'm a murderer too. I don't deserve this kindness._

"Listen to me, Remus Lupin, and listen closely." The gentle voice was now velvet covering solid steel. "Nothing. Happened. I managed to pull Snape away before he could even enter the tree, much less make it all the way to the Shack. And even if something had happened – if Snape had been hurt or, Merlin forbid, killed – you would not have been at fault. That blame would have rested solely on James and Sirius."

Remus stared at this phantasm, who stared back even more intently, shaken by the faith he saw in the other boy's eyes. Even more sure, now, that this was just a fever dream. And yet … he had to know. "Who _are_ you?"

"A friend. My name is Harry." Harry smiled sweetly. "I'm so glad you're okay."

And even though this was a fever dream – he believed that, he _had_ to – there was something else he knew he needed to say. "Harry ..." An unfamiliar name on his lips. "Thank you. Thank you for saving Snape from me."

The other boy looked downwards, embarrassed. Embarrassed by clearly deserved praise – the longer this dream went on, the more clear it became that despite their similar appearances, this was most definitely not James. "I'm just ... just so very tired of death. I may dislike Snape, but he doesn't deserve to die. No one deserves to die like that. And you don't deserve to have that on your conscience."

As though speaking directly to Remus was too hard, Harry instead concentrated his attention on the now-empty jars that littered the table beside the bed, rearranging them with motions sufficiently quick that it made Remus' still fuzzy head hurt to try and focus, yet were oddly mesmerizing. Even after Harry finished speaking, Remus was distracted from responding by his interest in the display.

Eventually, however, Harry settled on a pyramid-like structure – the four larger bottles forming the base of the pyramid with the fifth, smaller bottle perched in the center on top. Remus shook his head gingerly – it wasn't like it could hurt much more than it already was – in an attempt to bring himself back on task. "Nonetheless, I thank you. You don't have to accept my thanks, but know that you have them."

"What else can I say to that but 'you're welcome'?" Harry asked, with a wry smile that suddenly transformed into a huge yawn.

"What time is it?" Remus asked. He often lost track of time in the 'Shrieking Shack', as the villagers called it, due to the complete lack of windows.

"I dunno. Probably after midnight."

"What are you doing here looking after me, then? Go to bed!" He waved a hand. "Shoo!"

"If you're sure you'll be all right ..."

"I've been a werewolf for about twelve years now. I'm used to it."

"But will you be _all right_?" Remus was bemused to note that, despite their many differences, Harry's expression bore a remarkable similarity to James' when he was feeling particularly mulish.

He rolled his eyes. "No. I hurt all over because I don't know how to brew a good enough pain-numbing potion. The scratches and bruises will probably heal before the next full moon, while the strained muscles will be good as new by the end of the week. I'm tired, feverish, and the only reason I'm telling you this is because I _know_ you're a fever dream or hallucination of some sort. But I will survive, and I will be back on my feet and back attending school by tomorrow. I _promise_."

"I'll hold you to that." Harry rose unsteadily to his feet and yawned again. "I'll see you tomorrow, Remus ... even if you don't see me." He walked through the door, disappearing down the passageway back towards the Whomping Willow.

"Goodbye, Harry." He continued watching the doorway long after the other boy had gone, mulling over what he had said and wondering how much of it was actually real.

Finally, he rolled over, ignoring the protests of muscles and injuries. _Goodbye, my fever dream. I'll miss you._ Then exhaustion finally overcame the pain and he slept.

* * *

A very small amount of light seeped into the small house through cracks in the boards blocking the windows. One such beam just happened to come to rest over the eyes of the sleeping seventeen-year-old. Eyelids twitched, squeezed tighter shut, opened. He looked around, eyes already accustomed to the extremely dim light.

For a moment, he stared at the dust motes whirling lazily through the beam of sunlight, mind blank. Then the memory of the previous night slipped back in, and he deflated. _Just a fever dream. How could it have been anything else?_ He often dreamed, after all, that he was a child again, that his parents still tucked him in and sang the soothing lullabies that had always lulled him to sleep. This was just a variation on that common theme, perhaps a sign that his subconscious was beginning to accept that he was no longer, and would never again return to being, a child. Nothing more.

Then his eyes fell on the five bottles sitting on the small table beside his bed; arranged into a miniature pyramid of glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 26 December 2002  
> 30 June 2002  
> 8 August 2011  
> 28 August 2012  
> 1 April 2019


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for a brief bout of internalized homophobia on the part of a character. 
> 
> (Quite possibly on the part of the author as well; I don't remember in detail the state of my relationship with my nascent queerness in 2003. XD) 
> 
> ==
> 
> Nothing in particular to say …
> 
> Harry Potter does not belong to me …
> 
> Yay …
> 
> (11/26/2012: Minor edits)

Still coming to terms with the disturbing conclusion that the events of the previous night may not have been just a dream after all, and either way unwilling to break the promise he had made, Remus dragged himself down the hallway from the Shrieking Shack to the Whomping Willow and up towards Hogwarts proper.

He didn't notice anyone else out wandering the grounds; as the chill wind bit through his cloak like it wasn't even there, Remus acknowledged that getting back inside sooner rather than later sounded like an excellent idea. He often enjoyed his treks back to the school proper … but then, he also usually gave his inevitably exhausted and often fever-wracked body an extra day to recover.

Finally within sight of the doors to the Great Hall, he paused, leaning against a nearby fencepost to catch his breath.

"I see you're returning a bit early." Remus jumped. Was that really …? "Ordinarily we wouldn't be _blessed_ with your presence until late this afternoon or early tomorrow morning."

He turned to look over his shoulder, surprised to see that it really was Snape, even though the voice was unmistakable. Bemused, part of him wondered how long the other boy had been following him unnoticed; another part of him noted that it didn't really matter anymore, now that Snape apparently knew the secret he had been trying to hide. And then, drowning all other thought, a rush of relief so strong it bordered on euphoria, for there the man was – just as greasy and irritable and rude as always. Alive. Unhurt. "What do you want, Snape?"

From the wary look that got, Snape had paid less attention to the words and more to the fact that, by his tone, Remus sounded positively happy to see him. "Why, nothing at all, Lupin. Just hoping for the health of whatever relative of yours it was that fell ill this month."

He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Remus to, after one last bracing breath, shove away from the fencepost and continue back towards the castle, shaking his head. He was pretty sure that was the closest the two of them had come to having a real, non-hostile conversation since … well, ever.

_Maybe this is still part of my fever dream …_

* * *

"I assume your cousin is on the mend?" Professor McGonagall asked politely when Remus entered the classroom a few minutes before class started. She was clearly startled, although she hid it fairly well – and no wonder, since as Remus' Head of House, she was one of the few who _really_ knew where it was the werewolf disappeared to each month. She studied his face. "You don't look too good, Mr. Lupin. Would you like to go to the Hospital Wing?"

Truth be told, he _was_ tempted, but he shook his head firmly. "No thank you, Professor. I promised someone I'd be in today."

"Who?" Who knew how to find you? Was her real question, no doubt.

He smiled. "A hallucination. But I'm still going to keep my promise."

Seeing him admit so openly to hallucinating obviously worried his professor, but with him so determined to stay, she didn't push the issue further. "Very well, Mr. Lupin. Find your seat."

"Nice to see you back so early, Moony." Peter whispered his greeting as Remus slid into a seat beside him – the two frequently sat together in classes that were set up for pairs, since of the four, James and Sirius were _always_ together. "You won't _believe_ what's happened since I saw you last."

 _I've got an interesting story or two of my own to tell_ , he thought, amused, but silent. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to share the story yet, especially given that his friends tended to be even larger mother hens than the teachers; speaking so matter-of-factly about a hallucination would worry them.

"Try me." Remus leaned his head on one hand and looked at his friend, allowing his amusement to show on his face.

Peter hesitated. "Well … I guess I'm not sure quite where to start." A glare. "And don't you _dare_ say 'the beginning'."

Remus closed his mouth.

"Let's see … I guess it started when James and Sirius decided to do something about Snape." The blond frowned. "Something … permanent."

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Remus could see how the story was going to end. "They told Snape about the entrance to the Whomping Willow."

Peter blinked. "How did you know?"

 _Crap._ Up 'til then, Remus had held out some small hope that he – that Harry had been wrong, had misconstrued the situation somehow. (Or, still the likeliest theory, had never existed in the first place.)

Wait. Harry. His head shot up and he stared at Peter, pain and exhaustion temporarily forgotten. "Harry is _real_? _Really_ real?"

Peter squinted at the apparent non sequitur for a moment, then his face cleared. "So that's who told you." Hesitation. "… I … you might not want to take _everything_ Harry said at face value. I mean, he was certainly right about … Snape and that situation … but I get the idea that he doesn't like James too much. So he might …" Peter floundered.

 _Poor Wormtail_. Remus knew from experience how much his friend disliked being negative, particularly when his friends were involved. He tended to view the world through rose-tinted lenses at times. "… his relation of events might have been a bit biased?" Remus suggested.

"Yes, that's it, exactly!" Peter agreed with a grateful smile.

"Then I'm even more impressed. I got the idea that he didn't exactly approve of either of them, but he didn't _say_ anything outright, and he downplayed his role. I don't know that he was planning on telling me about his role in the" how to put it? " _events_ that night at all, until I started going all hysterical on him. Thinking that I really had …" He trailed off. The fear that conversation had sparked was still with him. Fear that someday he really _would_ go out of control with someone innocent nearby.

He shook his head. "So who is Harry, really? A foreign exchange student? What year is he? What's his last name? When did he get here? Why …"

"Whoa!" Peter held up his hands, laughing. "I … we still really don't know all that much about Harry; he's been really close-mouthed about just about everything. He's not a student here, though."

"How can he be not a student? He was wearing a school robe … and he was far too solid to be a ghost."

"Not precisely a ghost … more a spirit. He possessed James in order to save Snape. Now, as far as we can tell, James is himself during the day, and Harry as soon as the sun goes down. They seem to be able to communicate, whoever's in control, though."

Laugh-lines creased Remus' eyes. "That must be … hard on James." _Serves him right._

Peter nodded, trying vainly to suppress his own smirk. "You should have seen him at breakfast yesterday. It looked like Harry was on the verge of giving him a migraine."

"Good for Harry." Remus said firmly. "So, he's just Harry?"

"Just Harry." Peter nodded. "Aside from his first name, we know that his dad was a wizard and his mum Muggleborn, but he ended up raised by Muggle relatives – so obviously something must have happened to his parents. Maybe they were killed …"

Remus bit his lip. "I hope not. Though you're probably right … he gives me this feeling, like nothing ever goes right with his life. He looks a lot like James, but as far as personality is concerned …"

"It would be hard to find two people more different." Peter agreed. "Although I'm _pretty_ sure Harry is or was or will be or … whatever, you know what I mean … a Gryffindor. He knew his way around the Tower too well."

"He also knew about the entrance under you-know-where." Remus added. "And even among students that have been here for all seven years, there are only four of us – well, five now, evidently – who know _that_ particular secret."

"About that." Peter hesitated. "I'm sorry, Moony. It's my fault that the other two wanted to get rid of Snape that badly. They were only … well, as much as it grates to say, they _were_ only trying to protect me."

Remus chuckled. "Don't we all want to get rid of Snape? Just … not quite that permanently." His face grew serious. "Now I'm going to paraphrase Harry at you: 'Even if something _had_ happened – which it didn't, thanks to Harry – it would not have been your fault. If anyone's, it would have been James' and Sirius' fault for being so stupid.'"

Peter reluctantly smiled. "Yeah, I suppose."

Remus tossed that topic away with a shake of his head as he leaned towards Peter. "Now … if you don't mind, let's get back to gossiping about Harry."

* * *

When James entered the Transfiguration classroom, he stopped for a moment in the doorway, surprised to see Remus sitting on the far side of the room next to Peter – who had made a point of sitting as far away as possible in all the classes they had had since That Night – looking very worn, but still chatting away merrily. For a moment, he thought he caught something similar to pleased surprise emanating from Harry, before the spirit suppressed it.

He wondered where Harry had learned such emotional control. It was kind of creepy, the way it seemed that the spirit could almost obliterate his emotions when he felt it necessary, yet go back to being 'normal', if somewhat quiet, the next moment.

He sat by Lily, who greeted him with her usual welcoming smile. He had always valued his girlfriend highly, yet in the past few days he had discovered new levels of appreciation for her. When it seemed that all his friends were leaving him – Peter and, evidently, now Remus as well – Lily was steady as a rock by his side.

_:Steady as a rock? How unpoetic.:_

Another irritating thing about Harry was the way the annoyance seemed to be able to read anything and everything he was thinking, on a whim. When _James_ was consigned to the back of their head, there were times when he could barely even keep track of the most basic of Harry's surface thoughts.

He narrowed his eyes. _:Stop doing that. And whaddaya mean, 'poetic'? Don't tell me you're trying to steal my girlfriend, too!:_

_:Me and LILY? Gack!:_

He got the impression that, had Harry had his own body, he would have been curled up in a fetal ball about now. _:No! That is … that is just so incredibly wrong. There are not words strong enough to describe just how wrong that is.:_ A pause. _:Hey, wait … what do you mean, 'too'?:_

_:Well, you've certainly done a good enough job at turning Wormtail and, evidently, Moony as well, away from me.:_

Out of an obscure sense of insult, he added, _:And what do you have against Lily anyway? Are you gay?:_

Now _that_ would be uncomfortable. What if Harry started fancying one of his friends? … That would be _so_ uncomfortable, being forced to look at his best friends like _that._

Erk. Come to think of it … what if Harry started fancying _him_?

_:Not if you were the last man on Earth.:_

Harry sniped, apparently choosing the thought James least wished for him to have seen, to respond to first. James wished, idly, that he could do that to Harry, or at least learn to shield his surface thoughts as well as Harry could. _:Even if I_ was _gay. Which I'm not. I don't think.:_ A pause. _:Anyway._ I'm _certainly not the one whose actions drove the rest of the Marauders away. At least you still have Sirius. And good riddance to both of you.:_

Harry's presence retreated into the back of his head, possibly to sleep. Goodness knew _James_ felt tired enough, and he had had a full night's sleep the previous night. As alone in his head as he ever got anymore, he sighed. When had it all started to go so wrong?

Well … at least he still had Lily.

* * *

Although he usually ate lunch with his friends, some days James would end up staying after Transfiguration to chat with Professor McGonagall. This sometimes – more often recently than in earlier years – involved additional practical applications too, which had the twin benefits of being fascinating and helping him to maintain his position as the top Transfiguration student of the year.

Occasionally, the two of them became sufficiently involved in their discussions or practice that he missed lunch entirely – although the stomach of a teenage boy with a healthy appetite functioned as a pretty good alarm. James would swear up and down that the fact that he was staying extra late today had absolutely nothing to do with a niggling desire to avoid Remus. He was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors aren't cowards. Today's subject was just really interesting, that's all. So many potential avenues of deeper investigation – of course he had a lot of questions.

Eventually it was Professor McGonagall who called their session to a halt, pleading hunger of her own. As he assisted her in straightening up the last of the supplies, she paused to peer at him consideringly. "Is something the matter, Mr. Potter? You appear a bit ill-at-ease."

_One of my best friends isn't talking to me, and I don't know how much another one knows, but if he knows the full story he probably doesn't really like me much right now either. Oh, and I have a crazy spirit living in my head who takes over my body at sunset._

He smiled his sincerest smile. "Oh no, I'm fine." The only thing she might be able to help with was the matter of Harry, and though he really wanted to see the spirit gone, he didn't think it was quite important enough a matter yet to be bothering his head of house about. Not when Harry seemed to be fairly benign so far. Extremely irritating, but benign.

The last of the straightening up done, he popped his back and then gathered his supplies, swinging his book bag over one shoulder. "Thanks for the extra help, Professor."

She smiled back. "It's been a pleasure, as always."

The halls were pleasantly empty at this hour – most people long gone from lunch to their next destination – and James was not terribly surprised (and traitorously, a bit relieved) to see that only Sirius was still in the Great Hall waiting for him.

"They've come and gone already." Sirius remarked, tearing into his food in a manner much tidier than it looked. It never ceased to amaze James just how much food the other boy could pack away, especially given that he had probably been eating off and on since the normal hour. "Remus was looking a little grey, and didn't eat much. I wonder what brought him back early."

That was a question James didn't feel like he could address on an empty stomach. Given the late hour, he opted for a smaller lunch than usual, and finished a commensurate amount quicker. Idly watching as his plate obediently disappeared, he shoved himself to his feet. "Knowing the way these past few days have been going," he finally commented dryly, "I have no doubt that it's somehow Harry's fault."

"And Snape's." Sirius added.

James blinked. Not that he didn't agree with the sentiment on general principles, but …

"Remember? It's _always_ Snape's fault." Sirius' easy grin provoked a matching expression on James' own face as his best friend also stood. "Now come on, let's go get our homework over with. I'll help you with History if you'll share some of the new stuff McGonagall showed you. You stayed late enough today that I bet it's worth it."

James laughed and punched Sirius' shoulder. "When you're offering a trade, you really ought to offer something that's actually appealing. After seven years, you should know that I know that you're no better at History than I am." Of course, that in no way meant that he wasn't going to show off McGonagall's tricks eventually – Sirius always managed to find some way to worm them out of him.

Bickering companionably, they wandered back up to the Gryffindor common room, and it was there that James finally came face-to-face – or rather, face-to-back – with Remus. He froze for a moment, then smiled weakly. "Hey, Moony."

The werewolf also froze at the sound of his voice, and ever so slowly turned to fully face him. "When you were making your plans," he hissed, "did it ever occur to you to stop and consider _my_ probable input?"

 _But … it was_ Snape _!_ For some reason, though, that answer seemed less adequate than when he had used it before. Perhaps wisely, he kept his mouth shut.

Remus sneered, probably seeing the answer in James' face. "Next time you want someone torn to pieces, why don't you do it yourself?"

He turned on his heel and walked away.

* * *

"What year were you in?"

Harry looked up from his cross-legged position on the floor in front of James' Charms homework, still biting his lip a bit. "I was a couple weeks from graduating from fourth year." He grinned. "That is, assuming I didn't have to stay back because I failed Potions."

Peter laughed. "Amen to that. I live in constant fear of totally failing Potions. Of course, know-it-all Remus here has none of those sorts of problems." While coming from someone else it might have been intended as an insult, Peter used the epithet 'know-it-all' with enough clear fondness to show that he meant nothing of the sort.

"I have – _had_ a friend like that." Harry corrected his tense, staring into the fire with a drawn face neither of them had seen before. "I hope they don't take my … _death_ … too hard …" He shook his head, pointedly returning his attention back to the parchment in front of him.

"Do you want help? James stinks at Charms, so the quality doesn't have to be great … but it _is_ still seventh-year curriculum." Remus offered, provoking a raised eyebrow from Peter, who could count on one hand the number of times he remembered Remus volunteering to help one of them with their homework.

"Heh." Harry looked mildly embarrassed. "You know, that hadn't even occurred to me. I may take you up on that offer later – if I stay around that long – but I don't really need the help for this assignment."

"Is that the essay on the Patronus Charm?" Peter sat up. "Forget Harry, Moony. _I'd_ like your help!"

A choked sound caught both Marauders' attention and they turned towards their new friend with concern. Harry looked as if he was about to go into convulsions, he was trying so hard not to laugh. When after a few seconds his willpower failed him, the resultant peal of joyous sound surprised them both.

"What's so funny?" Peter sounded highly insulted, a sure sign that he was faking it.

Harry reached up under his glasses to wipe tears out of the corners of his eyes. "Nothing, really. You just reminded me of the way Ron and I are always begging 'Mione to let us copy her homework." Again he shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the memories from his mind. "For this one assignment, _I'll_ help you, if you want it."

"Would you? I'm having particular trouble with this, even worse than usual." Peter abandoned the nearby chair he had been sitting in to join Harry on the floor.

"Remus? Would you like to join us?" Harry sounded almost hesitant as he motioned towards the rug. "There's plenty of room down here for you."

Remus worked alone. Yet … looking at Harry's hopeful face, how could he refuse? He had already made the mistake of letting the younger boy within his guard; now he was having an increasingly hard time trying to force his customary aloofness back into place.

Besides, what would it hurt, just this once? He sat down beside Harry and Peter and was immediately rewarded with beaming smiles from both of them. One thing itched at his curiosity bump, though … "Harry? Where did you learn about the Patronus? I don't think it's in standard fourth-year curriculum anywhere?"

A twisted smile. "Dementors like me." He paused, as if debating whether he should say any more. "I had to learn it in order to protect myself – the Ministry forced our Headmaster to allow them to guard the school last year. My DADA professor gave me private lessons."

 _Dementors like me._ That statement made Remus even more certain that Harry's life had not been a good one – the awful things thrived on bad memories, and the more bad memories there were, the better.

But Harry was continuing. "Anyway. Are you supposed to perform the charm or just learn about it?"

"In previous years, I think they just had to learn about it, but with You-Know-Who becoming a greater threat, this year Professor Flitwick wants us all to learn how to cast the charm." Remus stated.

"In more peaceful times, it was barely even a sub-topic." Peter interjected. "The usual tactic was to give a _lot_ of extra credit to those so anal as to actually bother to learn it. Or at least, that's what my brother said."

"You have a brother?" Harry was clearly surprised, more than Remus would have expected as a reaction to so little a thing as finding out that a person you had only recently met was not an only child. He turned to Remus. "What about you?"

"Older brother and a younger sister. Sarah, she's in third year, a Hufflepuff. Mark graduated … lessee, four years ago now." Peter clarified.

Remus shook his head. "My parents were planning on having another child, but it just never quite happened. Especially not after …" He trailed off. _After I was bitten._

Peter and Harry both grimaced sympathetically. Peter had learned the story along with Sirius and James in second year; given that Harry had known that Remus was a werewolf in the first place, he wasn't too surprised the enigmatic spirit also knew the circumstances.

Now, _how_ Harry knew as much as he did was an entirely different question; one he hoped to someday learn the answer to, but one he suspected he wouldn't get very far with if he just asked outright. "What about you, Harry?" In his quest to turn the subject to a more favorably one, his mouth ran before his mind had a chance to catch up. _Stupid! Grew up with Muggles … his parents are probably dead, remember?_

"I'm an only child. I suppose you could call my cousin Dudley a foster-brother, since I have lived with him ever since my parents died." A wry grin. "Though I'd rather you didn't."

Even though he had suspected as much, Remus still felt that tightening in his gut of horror/sorrow/sympathy/suppressed relief that it had not been _him_ who lost a loved one. The feeling that made him want to rush home in fear that his parents would have somehow disappeared before he made it back. No matter how strained their relationship had been since he was bitten, he still loved them and knew that they loved him. "I'm sorry." Peter said quietly.

"I am too." Harry seemed entirely too calm. "Everyone – well, _nearly_ everyone – I've talked to seemed to hold a very high opinion of them; they sound like nice people to have known." His mouth quirked for a moment; Remus wondered what he could possibly find funny about that thought.

"You sound so …" _cold._

"… clinical? Uncaring?" Harry drew his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them as he focused his entire attention on the two Marauders. All three essays lay on the ground, abandoned for the time being. "I care. I would love nothing more than to have them back again, to have two real parents and a real home and maybe real brothers and sisters too; a real family. A normal family."

He closed his eyes. "I get so tired, sometimes, of the way my life is _never_ normal. Even this …" he shook his head. "But no matter how much I care, I don't mourn their death 'properly'. I can't, because I don't have the right sense of loss. It is the loss of the family-that-might-have-been that I feel, not the loss of people that I knew and loved."

He gestured with one hand, helplessly. "I never knew them, was never given a chance to. They were killed when I was only fifteen months old; my only memory of them is of their voices the moments before they died, a flash of green light, and Voldemort's chilling, high-pitched laughter in the background."

He put that hand down on the stack of parchment that was his/James' essay. "Did you know that a large part of properly performing the Patronus Charm is truly wanting to? More than just summoning up the happy memory, it involves truly wishing for the Patronus to appear." Even given the variability of the flickering firelight, his eyes seemed several shades darker than before.

"That's why it took me so long to get it right. Because I hated the Dementors, but. But whenever they were near, I could hear my parents' voices – the first time I had ever heard them. Their last moments, yes – my father telling my mother to take me and run, my mother pleading with Voldemort, trying to bargain for my life if not her own – but still their voices."

"Before I could perform the Patronus, I had to find within me the strength to throw away that last connection to my parents. To deny the horror that spoke with my mother's and father's voices."

He grinned, suddenly whimsical. "Then again, the Dementors also caused me to lose a Quidditch game. I guess that shows where my priorities lie, huh?"

 _Harry plays Quidditch. I wonder which position?_ Remus filed that bit of information away for later perusal, noting that, from Peter's expression, he was doing much the same thing. Focused on the details, because the rest of the story he wasn't sure he could think about with aplomb just yet.

Purposefully, Harry picked his quill back up. "Well, now that I've indulged in self-pity, shall we get some actual work done?"

As the three of them bent back over their parchments, an earlier comment of Harry's drifted back into Remus' mind. _'Last year' … he learned to control the Patronus Charm as a_ third _year? I wouldn't have thought that possible …_

 _Then again, this is Harry. Sometimes, I wonder if Mystery isn't his proper middle name … whatever his real one ends up being. I get the feeling that he's been through and done a lot that most people his age – heck, even most people_ my _age! – haven't._

_Well, one thing's for sure … no matter how good he is at magic, to have learned the Patronus Charm at fourteen … or perhaps even thirteen, if he has a late birthday …_

_He must have had a_ damn _good teacher._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 21 January 2003  
> 27 August 2011  
> 28 August 2012  
> 5 April 2019


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'm sorry that it took me so long to get this chapter up. It is, I believe, a bit longer than usual … and yet it covered fewer salient plot points than I expected to when I set out at the beginning to work on it.
> 
> Oh well. It also brought up a few that I hadn't expected to, so I guess it all evens out.
> 
> Anyway, you do know by now that Harry Potter does not belong to me …
> 
> … Right?
> 
> (11/26/2012 – Minor edits and fixing the punctuation)

"What?"

Peter blinked, but obligingly repeated himself. "I asked if you would be willing to be my second in my duel with Snape tomorrow night."

"… That's what I thought you said. Shouldn't you be asking this during the day? I'm afraid James fell asleep early tonight." From boredom, most likely – the week's DADA assignment was more or less pure research, something that (as far as Harry could tell) James had _never_ been all that fond of.

Even Harry, who had discovered within himself an unexpected aptitude for research through his efforts to prepare for what ended up being his Final Battle, was finding it rather hard going.

"I thought as much – you seemed more relaxed than usual, and I know that James gets most tensed up when he's talking to you, so I figured the reverse might be true as well. That's why I waited this long – I'm asking _you_ , not James." Peter glanced around the now mostly-empty common room and tugged lightly at his small braid, a habit Harry had begun to associate with embarrassment. "I, ah, also figured it would be better not to have a lot of observers."

Harry wondered if there was something wrong with his face – he seemed unable to pull his jaw up into its proper position from where it had fallen at Peter's initial request. "I …" It was a _very_ great honor – especially considering the pool of friends Peter already had to draw from. "No. I can't."

Peter's face fell, clearly disappointed, and he found himself rushing to reassure his greatest enemy (bar Voldemort), who had somehow managed to become one of his closest friends in _this_ time period. Somewhere, someone was laughing their ass off.

"It's not that I don't like you. I just wouldn't feel right dueling Snape if it came down to that. I duel my enemies only – and I may not _like_ Snape much, but he's certainly no enemy." He scrambled for additional justification for a moment before inspiration struck. "Besides, even if I wanted to, I couldn't. I don't have a wand."

"What happened to it?" Now _this_ , to Peter, was a quite worrying development. What if something happened to Harry? He'd be defenseless!

"It just … didn't make the journey with me." Harry pulled a stick of wood out of his pocket. "And I don't think James' wand likes me all that much."

"Have you tried it?" Speaking of the wand as if it was a living object was going a bit far. For all Ollivander's talk of 'the wand chooses the wizard', in the end it was just a stick of wood, after all.

"No … I just have this feeling." Harry took a deep breath; exhaled slowly and fully. He raised the wand, and pronounced in a soft, but firm voice, " _Lumos_."

Immediately, every single light – including the fire, which Peter was almost certain had an Eternal Burning Charm on it – extinguished. From the tip of the wand flickered the slightest hint of … something. A dark violet, it would never have been visible had the rest of the room not been completely dark.

"Um … _Nox?_ " Even that flickery purplish hint of light died. The spirit's voice drifted eerily through the darkness. "I _told_ you it didn't like me."

" _Lumos_." Highlighted by a respectable circle of golden light, Remus' face came into view from about halfway down the last flight of the staircase. "What's going on?"

Peter rose to his feet, gesturing towards Harry to rise as well. "Come on, you two. We've got a trip to Hogsmeade to make."

* * *

"I didn't know there was a wand shop in Hogsmeade." Harry mused as they walked down a mostly-dark street.

Sirius, who had come down to investigate shortly after Remus and after that invited himself along on the outing, crossed his arms. "Where else would any wandmaker in his right mind set up shop? Diagon Alley?" The three Marauders laughed.

"Well … yes." Harry answered, brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Why do you think that's funny?"

Again, the other three acted as one, this time in staring at Harry as if he was certifiably insane. "With Death Eater raids out of their hideouts in Knockturn Alley practically _daily_? Screw the Ministry and their so-called 'protection', it's a _lot_ safer up here near Dumbledore. Any store owner who hasn't realized that yet almost _deserves_ to have his store raided."

Harry blinked. "I had … never thought of it that way. Yes, I _would_ be far more inclined to trust to Dumbledore's protection than the Ministry's." He sneered. _Especially if the current minister is anything like Fudge._

"Isn't it like this where – or I guess when – you come from?" Remus asked. "If Voldemort wasn't defeated until … whatever it is that you did …"

Harry shifted uncomfortably, a clear indication to the two who knew him best in this time period that this was a subject that touched on the spirit's private life – something that he had tried his level best to keep just that, private. "Um. Not exactly. You see, when I was very young, he … went dormant for a while. Everyone believed he had died."

"I guess Diagon Alley repopulated itself sometime in the intervening period; by the time I saw it for the first time when I was eleven, it was full of people and shops of all sorts. That was the year that Voldemort first started stirring again … it was all kept rather hushed up, though. I don't think many people outside of Hogwarts knew."

"When were you born?" Sirius, bluntly asking the question the other two were too polite to.

Harry flashed a brilliant smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "That would be telling, now wouldn't it?" _Three years from now … perhaps four. No more. Oh, Dad … why couldn't you have lived up to my idealistic notion of you?_

"Harry …" Sirius again, possibly the first time he had ever said the spirit's name. "Please. The adults believe we're too young to understand, so we've been kept in the dark for the most part. I don't really even know how the war is going, other than what little makes it into the newspapers. But even we want it to be over. We're _tired._ "

Harry sighed, nodded. "There are some things here that I _know_ are different, and some that I desperately hope will not turn out the same. I thought, at first, that I had just traveled into the past; now I think things are a bit more complicated than that. So I don't know for certain …"

"Any hint would be better than none at all, I think." Sirius replied; both Remus and Peter nodded silent agreement.

 _Am I really going to do this?_ Harry stopped walking, closed his eyes, and nudged James awake. _:You're going to want to hear this too, I think.:_

The other three stopped as well. The silence stretched, as Harry sketched out the recent events to James very briefly. Skipping, of course, some things – like Peter's request – that he felt the older Potter didn't need to know.

Then, with a deep breath, "October 31, 1981."

"Four years …" Remus breathed.

They started walking again. "I hope not."

"Why?" Sirius flared. "It's a long time, yes, but at least after that, it will be over, and we'll have some peace."

 _:Even a temporary peace would be better than this.:_ James agreed.

They reached the wand shop and Harry gestured sharply for silence. "Later."

"Now what have we here? Customers so late at night?" A breathy voice whispered. Harry stiffened at the sound, but forced himself to relax. "Come in, come in."

The inside of the shop, sharply contrasted with the boarded up windows, was filled with soft golden light. "You are the one who needs a wand, yes?" His eyes focused – as much as those rheumy orbs could be said to 'focus' – on Harry. "Another Potter, I presume? But no, those eyes … there has never been a Potter with such eyes."

"Believe me, I know all about my eyes …" Harry sighed. "Could I just get a wand, please?"

"This is not, I presume, your first wand?" At a gesture from the old man, a tape measure began measuring Harry, reminding him strongly of the first time he had stood in a shop not so different from this one.

"No."

A pause. "Well, boy? Are you going to tell me what your previous wand was, or are we just going to stand around all night?" The man grumbled. "I'm getting old and my bones are tired. Staying up all night or keeping the shop in Diagon Alley just because it's _tradition_ is all well and good for young people like my son, but …"

"Holly, phoenix feather – the second given by Fawkes – and eleven inches." Harry interrupted hastily.

"I must ask you not to lie, young man." The old man looked offended. "The Headmaster's phoenix has only given one feather, and that wand was bought long before you were born."

"Yew, thirteen-and-a-half inches." Harry rattled off from memory. "Bought … give me a second … around 1938? … by a young man who went by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Remarkable." The old man shook his head. "And quite correct."

"'Went by the name of'?" Peter asked. None of the Marauders bothered to ask why Harry would have such detailed knowledge of a 40-year-old wand in the first place.

Harry nodded. "Indeed. May I borrow your wand, seeing as I have yet to get a new one of my own?" With only the slightest of hesitations, Peter handed it over. "The answer to that question is something he showed me when I encountered … a version of him in my second year. If I can reproduce it, that is …"

Carefully, he scratched out the shape of a 'T' in the air, imagining with all his strength it becoming visible, wreathed in fire. Though at first he was afraid it had not worked, slowly the letter became visible, although instead of the fire of Tom's writing, it seemed to be made of angrily crackling violet lightning. Well … at least Peter's wand was willing to work for him … more or less. He made relatively short work of the rest of the letters, and soon 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' floated in front of the spellbound watchers.

"I know his wand so well because his hatred has dominated my life." He waved the wand, again imagining hard, and the letters reordered themselves.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle. 'I am Lord Voldemort'." Harry smirked. "Cute, isn't it?" He let the sentence lapse, returning the wand to the gaping blond. "Now. I would like to get a wand of my own, if you don't mind."

For all his bravado, Harry hadn't thought it possible that they would actually find a wand that matched him, especially when the old wandmaker had let drop that his original wand didn't exist yet. And certainly tonight's search seemed to be taking even longer than the first time; even the old man had begun to look frustrated. But finally they found one – yew, eleven inches, with a core of pure obsidian. He resented the wood, thinking of it as just one more thing that linked Voldemort and himself, but the feeling had been unmistakable.

No warm golden glow, this time, but a solid rush of power. Unadulterated power, power in its purest form … power that, Harry feared, could easily become addictive. Had Tom felt something similar the first time he touched his wand? Combined with his resentment of Muggles and his ambitious, deceptive nature – Slytherin to the core – that rush of power could very well have driven Tom over the edge into Darkness … especially encountering it at only eleven. Harry was older, better equipped to deal with it. He hoped.

"Quite a powerful wand, there." The old man had said. "One of the most powerful to pass out of my hands in, oh, quite some time." Then, much like Dumbledore tended to, he had shucked his outer covering of senility and pinned Harry with a stern Look. "I trust its power will not be misused."

Harry could still feel the aftereffects of the rush, and was attempting to expend some of the extra energy by flipping his new wand as they walked down the tunnel back towards Hogwarts. Toss. Catch. Toss. Catch. Toss …

It clattered to the ground, and he muttered something derogatory as he bent to pick it up. "Do you really think that's good for the wand?" Remus asked doubtfully.

That provoked a grin. "I know it's not. But I need to get rid of all my extra energy _somehow._ Besides, this gives it a more … used … look. It feels weird to be holding a brand new wand."

"If you have so much extra energy, why don't you start telling us why you don't think You-Know-Who being defeated four years from now is a good thing?" Sirius suggested, voice bordering on accusatory.

That suggestion on its own did the trick remarkably well, as Harry fell into a state of borderline panic and unhappy anticipation strong enough that he wondered if he was about to be sick. "I never said that Voldemort was defeated." He returned mildly, trying to hide his nervousness. _Oh Merlin … I can't do this after all …_ "Or if I did, I didn't mean to. October 31, 1981 is the day that, in my world, he suffered … a rather hefty setback."

His eyes unfocused as he began calculating again. "He first began making his presence known again in late 1991 and early 1992. And he reappeared – and was destroyed for good this time –" A look of fierce triumph that, even in the dim light, made the other three want to back away. "– June 24, 1995."

The triumph disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. "June 24." Harry whispered. The other three exchanged glances; it seemed to them that he was no longer even aware of their presence. "I will never forget you, Cedric. I promise."

Although they were all curious, no one asked the obvious question – who was this Cedric person? – as they instinctively felt that they would not like the answer.

"Well, even if he wasn't actually defeated, I think ten years of peace is still something to look forward to." Sirius' mouth set belligerently. "And you still haven't explained why it's _not_."

"Ten years of peace? When's this?" A new voice; the four boys looked up to see Lily standing by the open portrait hole, silhouetted by the dim firelight; all four a bit surprised that in their distraction they had made it all the way back to the common room already. "Dare I ask where you've been? And who you were targeting _this_ time?"

"Lily, you wrong us!" Sirius exclaimed. "We, why, we are simply _paragons_ of innocence!"

Lily raised an eyebrow. "Remus? Peter?"

"Sirius is actually right. We weren't pranking anyone." Harry interrupted, coming to his godfather's defense. "We just snuck down to Hogsmeade – I needed a new wand. Mine … didn't make the 'journey' and James' wand … er … doesn't seem to like me too much."

 _:Damn straight.:_ James sounded proud.

"So _that's_ why everything went dark in the common room." Had she been a cartoon, a lightbulb would have appeared above the green-eyed girl's head (a flaming torch? What _was_ the wizarding equivalent of that particular Muggle figure of speech, anyway? A candle? Somehow, he was sure that Hermione would know …)

"Professor McGonagall and several of the other professors came by while you were out, to find out what had happened – evidently the fireplace is tied into a couple of alarms, so she came in expecting some sort of invasion."

"Oops?" Harry offered sheepishly. "I didn't _mean_ to …"

"What were you doing? Testing James' wand with _Nox_?"

"No." Harry and Peter replied simultaneously, Harry massaging his forehead. " _Lumos._ "

* * *

_I take it back. I_ really _can't do this after all._ As they settled into a nearby group of chairs, Sirius brought Lily up to speed with a low-voiced explanation that Harry more-or-less tuned out, after which Lily had joined the others in watching him expectantly. _I'm not ready … not to become Harry Potter again._ After only, what, three days? The tag "Harry Potter" felt different, wrong; the thought of it stifled him like a too-small set of clothes. He wanted, _needed_ to remain just "Harry", if only for just a while longer.

Yet he had to say something. He had raised their hopes, excited their curiosity; he couldn't just stop now. "The ten years of peace _was_ a good thing for many people; I suppose you could even call it fourteen, since outside of Hogwarts I'm not sure anyone else even realized how close that peace was to coming to an end." He sneered, echoing his earlier thought. "Especially with someone like Fudge as Minister of Magic."

A sigh. "Peace _is_ good … but it always seems to come hand-in-hand with sacrifice. And I guess I'm selfish – all of you sacrificed much and, now that I know you, I'm not eager to see it happen all over again. Hopefully, considering the differences between your world and what I remember being told of _my_ 1978, it won't. But."

"Sacrifices?" The other four looked at each other. Being willing to sacrifice yourself for the good of all sounded perfectly good in the abstract – especially since these were, after all, Gryffindors – but _knowing_ that your sacrifice would be required? That was a different matter entirely.

"… what happened?" Peter, pale but determined to know the truth.

Harry smiled brightly at Lily. Falsely bright. "I'm sure you'll be happy, Lily, to learn that you and James got married. Right out of Hogwarts, I think I heard, although I'm afraid I don't know the exact date." Lily blushed.

"That doesn't sound so bad." Sirius objected. "Hey, Lily? Can I be best man?"

"You're asking the wrong person for that." Lily shot back. "Although I'm sure you'd make a stunning maid of honor."

 _:You ruined it!:_ James wailed. _:I was planning on proposing to her Christmas Day …:_ Harry opened his mouth to pass that particular intelligence along _:… and if you actually tell her that, I_ will _find a way to kill you.:_

 _:Been there, done that.:_ Harry quipped, but obligingly kept his mouth shut. "Sadly, on October 31, 1981, you are killed." Immediate, dead silence. "Cheer up! At least Voldemort respected you enough that he came to take care of you personally."

"Just me?" Lily stammered. "Please tell me James was all right."

Harry shook his head. "Both of you." He turned to Remus. "Ah, Professor Lupin. Yours is the happiest tale of the lot. As far as I know, nothing more dreadful happened to you than poverty, judging by the state of your robes when you came to Hogwarts to teach DADA during my third year."

" _I_ taught you the Patronus Charm?" Remus blurted, eyes wide.

Harry grinned, the mania fading for a moment as he answered sincerely, "You were the best DADA teacher I've ever had, hands down." He made a face. "Unfortunately, Snape held a grudge over what he believed to be your part in certain … recent events … and near the end of the year just happened to let slip to some of his Slytherins certain, ah, personal information …"

"I'm afraid I don't know where you are 'now', since I lost contact with you at the end of last year."

"That _bastard_." Sirius snarled.

"And whose fault was it that he believed that?" Remus gazed levelly at his friend until the black-haired boy lowered his eyes, ashamed. "What about Sirius and Peter, Harry? You haven't mentioned either of them yet."

Harry licked his lips. "Well, their story is rather intertwined … and one of the hardest parts of the tale to tell. And one of the things that makes me really hope that this time around, things will turn out differently."

"I die too, don't I." Sirius asked quietly.

"No … although I suspect there were times when you wished for death." Harry sighed. "Lily and James weren't supposed to die when and where they did. They somehow found out ahead of time that Voldemort was after them, so they went into hiding, protected by a Secret Keeper."

Sirius blanched, and his voice was even quieter. "So I was tortured to death …"

From James, who had been in a state of more-or-less pure shock since the revelation of his death, came a wordless burst of sympathy and horror that almost swamped Harry with its intensity, surprising him. It shouldn't have, he supposed, but he had grown so used to thinking of James as the monster (albeit usually a charming one) who had been willing to watch Snape get ripped to pieces by a vicious wolf – one that was usually one of his best friends, no less – that he tended to forget the depth of loyalty to friends that James also displayed.

"Why are you so convinced you died?" Harry asked, once he recovered from James' burst of emotion. "Last time I saw you, you were hiding out in a cave near Hogsmeade. You desperately needed a shower, a shave, and some higher quality food, but you were alive and as well as could be expected."

"In hiding?" Remus was, not surprisingly, the first to catch that particular phrase. "All right, Padfoot, who did you kill?"

"No one … at least, not that I know of." Harry answered before Sirius had a chance to. "Unfortunately, most of the rest of Britain holds – will hold – him responsible for the deaths of James and Lily Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and thirteen Muggles. He was sentenced to life in Azkaban and, in the summer of 1993, became the first person in history to escape from Azkaban."

Sirius, who had passed through pale into a very ill-looking shade of green, attempted to smile. "Well, that's something, I suppose …"

"But … if Sirius wasn't responsible for the deaths of all those Muggles … and myself …" Peter licked his lips "… then who was?"

Harry just watched the boy who had once been – might someday be? – the person he hated more than anyone else – with the possible exception of his aunt, uncle, cousin, and of course Voldemort. His eyes were sad.

"Sirius was going to be James and Lily's Secret Keeper, but at the last minute they decided he would be too easy a target – he was the one everyone expected them to pick. For some reason" a brief apologetic look "they were suspicious of Remus, so they settled on the one other person they _knew_ they could trust."

"Me?" Peter's voice nearly squeaked. "So _I_ was the one tortured to death …"

Harry shook his head. "Voldemort didn't have to torture you."

Shock/horror/denial. "No." Peter whispered.

"Of course, no one – not even Dumbledore – outside of the people involved, knew of the change." Harry continued inexorably, his eyes still sad. "The morning after, you met Sirius on a street; Sirius had checked on your hiding place, found you gone, and immediately come to the right conclusion."

Peter closed his eyes. "Please, no …"

" 'James and Lily!' You cried, holding your wand behind your back as Sirius advanced on you, wand drawn. There were a few Muggles around, minding their own business. Thirteen, to be precise. 'How could you?' And then … you blew up the street."

By then, the rest of the group had realized just exactly what Peter had caught on to immediately; they all stared at Peter in a sort of fascinated horror.

"The largest piece of you ever found was your little finger; Sirius was accused of being a Death Eater, of betraying James and Lily and of blowing up that street full of innocent Muggles, and shipped off to Azkaban; not too much later the Weasley family acquired a pet for their children, a small rat with only four toes on one of his front paws."

Peter fled.

* * *

Someone was crying.

This was the sort of thing that Severus Snape did not ordinarily encounter; the sort of people who cried where other people might hear, loudly enough that they _could_ hear, were weeded out of Slytherin early. That was one lesson embedded in everyone who graduated from the Serpent House – _never_ show weakness.

He decided to investigate. Not out of any particular interest in calming the other down – fostering weakness just increased it, after all – or, indeed, any real care. Simply because someone crying meant that there was someone out in the halls at this time of night. Which lead inexorably to the conclusion that, once he found this unfortunate soul, he would have the opportunity to put the fear of God – or at least Slytherin prefects who really _should_ have been Head Boy, dammit! – into the child. Especially if it was a Gryffindor.

He glided up to the alcove on silent feet – a trick he had developed over the years; after all, unlike _some_ people, his family, though well enough off, was most definitely not rich enough to splurge money on unnecessary fripperies like Invisibility Cloaks.

The person in the alcove was, indeed, a Gryffindor … but certainly not one he had ever expected to see off hiding, crying alone. "What in the world happened to you, Pettigrew?"

The blond's head snapped up. "Piss off, Snape." His voice, though still somewhat watery and choked up, was otherwise admirably firm. "You wouldn't understand."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You almost succeed in making me genuinely curious. Do tell."

Moving faster than he had given the stocky boy credit for, Peter was abruptly in his face. "All right, Snape, you really want to know? Fine. I just learned tonight that I'm destined to become a Death Eater, and that, furthermore, my betrayal will, directly or indirectly, cause the deaths of James and Lily and thirteen Muggles and Sirius' incarceration in Azkaban for _life_."

"But of course," the Gryffindor spat, "you would never understand that this thought is actually abhorrent to me, as you probably wait with bated breath for the moment when you can bow before _That Man_ and kiss his feet." He was breathing hard.

Snape, on his part, found himself for once genuinely without a retort. Well, yes, he had considered joining with Voldemort – what Slytherin hadn't, at one point or another? But he certainly hadn't made any real decision yet. And to hear Pettigrew speak as if his joining the Dark Lord was a foregone conclusion … it stirred an uncomfortable feeling in him. He wasn't quite sure what, but …

"When did I say a word about destiny?" A third voice interrupted. Snape turned to see Harry, that enigma to whom he owed his life. Somehow, he was not at all surprised.

"Well, you come from the future, so you _know_ what's going to happen." Peter pointed out, much calmer now.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair. "Look. I come from _a_ future, yes. But I seriously doubt that it is _the_ future. Well, and even if it was, it's not anymore. Even putting aside the fact that I believe that Destiny is a crock of bull and _can_ be changed, if you put enough effort into it, this is different from what I know of _my_ past."

He gestured towards Snape. "Here is a prime example, actually. In _my_ past, Sirius told Snape how to get into the passage under the Whomping Willow. Snape managed to make it in and, in fact, got almost to the Shrieking Shack – close enough to _see_ Remus – before James, reconsidering their potentially destructive _prank_ " he said the last word as scathingly as either had heard him speak "pulled him out and away just in time, saving his life."

"Oh, ew." Snape was surprised into that exclamation which he'd normally find far beneath him. "Owing a wizard's debt to _Potter_ …"

"And you persisted in believing that Remus was a part of the _prank_ , so you nursed your hatred of him as well – above and beyond this stupid school-boy quarrel – for over twenty years."

"'Stupid school-boy quarrel'?" Peter and Snape chorused indignantly, for once in complete accord.

"Stupid school-boy quarrel." Harry confirmed. "Don't bother to make all your protestations of undying hatred – I've been there and done that already with _my_ nemesis." He laced his fingers together behind his head. "I find, however, that death has given me something of a new perspective on the situation."

"Oh, and Peter? Snape might understand you better than you think." Harry eyed the dark-haired Slytherin, an unreadable look in his eyes. "Yes, in my time, he is a Death Eater, but I also have reason – _good_ reason, I think – to believe that he may be a spy for the Light."

"But I don't want to be a Death Eater at _all_." Peter protested, though he snuck glances at the Slytherin, trying to process the information that his nemesis might not be so bad after all.

"Then don't." Harry replied shortly. "I've already told you that my future may not necessarily be yours; so no one's saying you have to be a Death Eater – unless, at some later date, you decide you want to. In fact, I would rather prefer it if you weren't."

He drew himself up. "Barring the fact that I may very well die again or disappear or something before it even comes into consideration, if you were to become a Death Eater the day might come when I found myself forced to try my hardest to kill you. And you've become a friend, no matter that I at first tried my hardest to despise you. I don't want to have to kill a friend or die trying."

He withdrew, talking more to himself now than to either of the other occupants of the otherwise silent hall. "I don't want anyone else to die … yet, in some ways, I'm still glad that I came back here, to this war-torn time, instead of remaining in my own, which is hopefully now at peace. There, I would have no purpose; my reason for existence died when I succeeded in defeating Voldemort."

Snape, who had not heard _that_ facet of the story before, stared at Harry, eyes wide. This child, this fragile looking boy who looked no older than twelve, _he_ had accomplished what (most likely) even Dumbledore could not? Looking back, he would always say that that was when he had finally decided once and for all that the life of a Death Eater was not for him, after all.

Blood and pain had never really been his sort of thing, anyway – he preferred the calm, cool peace of the dungeons and the subtle intricacies of brewing potions. The only thing that had really attracted him to joining the Dark Lord in the first place was the possible power and knowledge to be found.

But power could be found – or made – elsewhere than under the Dark Lord's rule. And even less so than Peter did he want to find himself facing, not only the boy who had apparently defeated Voldemort, but also the boy to whom he owed his life.

If not quite in the Gryffindor way, Slytherins had their own brand of honor. To have one's life saved put that person in their saviour's debt; there was no greater debt, in fact, that Snape could think of, than this. Were they to face each other on a field of battle, he would die rather than kill the one who had saved his life. This was no vow, but a simple fact of life.

 _::Mother?::_ With his observational powers honed by nearly six and a half years of surviving Slytherin, Snape noted how Harry stiffened, though he could see no particular reason why; they had been standing in silence, each ruminating on his own individual thoughts, for several minutes now.

 _::Mother, I'm hungry …::_ 'I'm hungry'. A sentiment that a twelve-year-old Harry Potter had translated as ' _Kill'_. The plea stirred up unexpected feelings of sympathy.

Then Harry realized exactly what the fact that he could hear those words being spoken meant. That even now, if he listened hard enough, he could almost hear a dry slithery sound somewhere deep within the wall to his left.

"Oh shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 March 2003  
> 27 August 2011  
> 28 August 2012  
> 5 April 2019


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... This story actually did have a lot more cliffhanger-y endings than my works tend to. I'm retrospectively kind of impressed. :D 
> 
> ==
> 
> Well, this chapter came out faster than I expected …
> 
> My deepest apologies to those of you who hate cliffhangers. I think I'm addicted … ^^;;
> 
> And of course, as always, Harry Potter still doesn't belong to me.
> 
> (11/26/2012 – Minor edits and fixing the punctuation)

Albus Dumbledore slept lightly. It was a habit he acquired as a young man, when he enlisted in the British Army shortly after graduating from Hogwarts. He hadn't stayed long; just long enough to instill in him the habit of sleeping lightly and whenever the opportunity presented itself, a habit that had come in handy just frequently enough in the intervening years that he had never tried terribly seriously to break it.

When he had inherited the headmaster's office, it had surprised him just how numerous and how elaborate the wards were – not just the proximity wards that served as a substitute for a door knocker, or protection wards for the former headmasters' paintings and the more valuable of the baubles, but also misdirection wards to keep intruders' attention off certain baubles entirely, and even entirely frivolous things like the permanent stay-fresh charm on what would become his favorite candy bowl. Less surprisingly, many of these wards – particularly the most important ones – had been tied directly to alarms that went off in his sleeping chambers. The first time a student snuck into the office after he became headmaster, the cacophony had almost deafened him; after that experience he had made a point of turning the volume down considerably, knowing that even quiet noises, if unexpected, were usually more than sufficient to wake him.

The alarm that woke him this night was one of the softest – his office had been invaded by someone the wards were not keyed to, but the person in question had not yet touched anything. For nearly a full minute, he lay awake and unmoving, weighing whether it was truly worth it to leave his comfortable bed for what was probably the result of some childish dare. Unsurprisingly, curiosity eventually won out, and he climbed out of bed and up through the secret passage to the upper, hidden entrance to his office.

At first, he saw no one. But then, just as he was on the verge of deciding that perhaps the alarm had misfired, a small movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention. Yet, looking at it directly, he still saw nothing. Suspicion growing, he blinked a few times, and then with that curious trick of focus, finally convinced his eyes to see what had been there all along – a small figure hidden beneath an Invisibility Cloak. As he watched, the figure padded off to the side of Albus' desk and began to stroke Fawkes; after a brief moment of surprise the bird settled back down, to the amazement of the Headmaster – he _knew_ how untrusting Fawkes could be.

After a few more minutes cooing over Fawkes, as Albus up above weighed whether to go down and confront the intruder or just stay in his current position and continue watching, the figure reluctantly broke away and approached the desk. As he approached, Albus was able to guess at a few things – his trick of seeing through Invisibility Cloaks was extremely useful for getting a sense of presence, but typically not accurate enough to actually identify the person hidden. Particularly not in the dark. Still, with only three students in the entire school who owned Invisibility Cloaks, the short dark hair he thought he saw could mean only one person.

Yet this invader was far too small to be James Potter, nor had he ever seen Fawkes act so friendly towards the current Head Boy.

The boy who was not James dropped … _something_ … on the desk, turned, and left as quietly as he had come. Curiosity burning even higher – it was a pretty rare student who could resist even a little poking around at all the knick-knacks – as soon as the student was gone, Albus moved down to his desk, picking up what the intruder had left: a small strip of parchment with a single sentence written on it.

Yet, this one sentence was enough to make his blood run cold, even as he began speculating even more furiously about the identity and motivations of this student. Yes, one simple sentence that he had hoped never to see again.

_The Chamber of Secrets has been reopened._

* * *

Classes had ended long enough ago that most students had dispersed back to their common rooms or other similar areas; of the few out and about, fewer still happened upon this particular hallway. However, those chosen few, upon reaching this stretch of corridor, to a man turned and walked away again. All fairly certain that they were hallucinating, but none in any particular mood to find out.

After all, just because Severus Snape and Peter Pettigrew, well-known even to the first years to have a bitter rivalry, _appeared_ to be holding a civil conversation _now_ held no guarantee that the situation wouldn't explode momentarily.

Better not to take the chance.

The two conversation partners, on the other hand, remained unaware of the effect they were having, being far more concerned with the conversation itself. "Do you have any idea what last night was all about?" The Slytherin asked.

Peter shook his head. "Harry just … completely clammed up – well, as you saw. He stayed like that even once we were back in the common room. And I asked James this morning; he claims he heard nothing – except maybe some sort of vague rustling sound."

Snape looked both frustrated, and like he was trying to hide it. "Well, that's more than I knew before. You're _sure_ he didn't say anything else? If there's some sort of crisis coming …"

Peter tilted his head back. "Harry is … I get the feeling that he's very self-sufficient, but not suicidally so." Then again, he had died as a result of taking on the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries … "… Er, not usually? Anyway, I think that if he thought we could help – or if he thought he needed help – with whatever it is, he would ask."

Snape smiled slightly. "Yes … he would make a good Slytherin …" he shook his head. "Well, thanks for the information."

"Goodness knows why, but you seem to be as much a friend of Harry's as the rest of us … and if he's willing to trust you, I suppose I can hardly do less. In this case." An aborted movement, as if Peter had been about to offer his hand but, at the last minute, decided against it. "For Harry's sake."

"For Harry's sake." Snape agreed curtly. "See you tonight, then." He inclined his head and walked away.

_Tonight …_

* * *

"No second?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "My, I'm pleasantly surprised."

Peter twisted his braid around a finger, a rueful look on his face. "I asked Harry. He refused. Something about not dueling people who weren't his enemies."

 _Just as well …_ Snape thought. _If Harry_ had _been Pettigrew's second, I probably would have had to yield. I certainly won't fight him …_ "I see. Shall we begin?"

They turned away from each other, paced ten paces, and turned, in ready position. "Don't hurt each other too badly, please." The north wall said. Concentration broken, both turned in that direction to see Harry pulling the Invisibility Cloak off, folding it over his arm. Peter opened his mouth. "No, Peter, I haven't changed my mind." He pursed his lips. "I thought I'd … keep watch, so to speak. I won't interfere, I probably won't be watching the entire match, but I may be in the general area."

He looked from one to the other. "I'd rather not see either one of you land in the Hospital Wing, but … far be it from me to interfere. Well … see you later." The cloak swirled him back into invisibility even as he rounded the corner, leaving the two combatants silent and still.

"Did I hear hints of 'stupid school-boy rivalry' in his 'far be it from me to interfere'?" Peter finally asked, eyes alight with humor.

"It would not at all surprise me." Snape noted, allowing a small half-smile to grace his face. "He does seem to feel rather strongly about the subject."

"Maybe because of what he saw our rivalry do to Remus in his world." Peter suggested, sobering as he recalled all he had learned the previous night.

Snape twitched slightly at the mention of the werewolf, and his face turned entirely expressionless. "What … did happen?" The duel seemed the furthest thing from either of their minds, now.

"If I remember correctly, Remus got hired as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher here in Harry's third year."

Snape pursed his lips. "A werewolf … well, I assume Dumbledore knew what he was doing. I don't _think_ he'd knowingly endanger the students …" He shook his head. "Sorry. Continue."

"He had to resign at the end of the year because you let slip to the Slytherins – I think you're the Slytherin Head of House, by the way, though I don't know exactly what you teach – that he was. A werewolf, that is. Because you blamed him for what … happened."

"Potions, probably." He murmured; that and DADA _were_ his favorite subjects and the ones he was best at, so if _Lupin_ had gotten the DADA position … then the rest of the statement caught up to him. "I wouldn't do that!" He protested involuntarily. "Not even to _Potter_!" _… Probably._

Still, he remembered one of the first things Harry had said to him. _'Please don't tell anyone,'_ he had pled. _'If not for James and Sirius' sake, then for Remus'. He had no idea that the other two were planning … this.'_

 _He knew,_ Snape realized, _even then, he was trying to right a wrong that he had seen done in his time … ah, Harry, it seems now I have even more to thank you for …_

"… oddly enough, I believe you." Peter shook his head. "Harry has changed so much … it seems hard, now, to believe that he once _wasn't_ around."

Snape snorted. " _You've_ changed … if my roommates realized that I'm capable of carrying on even as civil a conversation as _this_ with a _Gryffindor_ …"

The Gryffindor in question laughed. "They'd probably excommunicate me!"

A slightly larger half-smile this time, tinted with wryness. "Quite."

Snape absently holstered his wand – it was obvious it wouldn't be needed immediately, and he was getting tired of holding it. _And I doubt he'd take advantage of the opening. He's a Gryffindor, after all._ "It's clear you know more about Harry's time than me. What did he tell you?"

"It was clear there was still a lot he was hiding, but he did let some slip." Quickly, Peter outlined what the spirit had told them the night before. "I'm afraid I wasn't quite in the right frame of mind to think to ask questions about the status of society as a whole."

Snape's face had gone mostly unreadable again; at least he wasn't rubbing his contempt at Peter's easily excitable emotions in his face. "Regrettable, but understandable, considering what you _did_ learn." A frown. "Still, even that much says something … unsettling … about that society."

"Consider: I seem to have held a fairly constant position in Harry's life; if I had only entered it briefly, as Lupin did, he probably would have said as much, instead of acting more like it was a given that I was around." His eyebrows drew together. "Whatever position I was in, I shouldn't have been there if all was right."

"Dumbledore hiring a Death Eater …" Peter nodded slowly. "Your true allegiance aside, he probably _wouldn't_ have hired you if there had been a … cleaner … choice. Imagine how much of an uproar the parents would raise if they found out!"

"And then hiring _Lupin_ …" Snape shook his head. "He'd probably make a pretty good teacher, but I don't care _how_ safe twenty-odd years will have made werewolves. You just _don't_ keep something that grows sharp claws and teeth and goes furry once a month near children."

"Especially not if there are any better choices – as there ought to be, in a society at least nominally at peace. No one _knew_ that the Dark Lord would return after he disappeared, so why _weren't_ there any better choices?"

"We only know about his third year." Peter pointed out, uncomfortable that he couldn't quite summon up the arguments necessary to refute Snape's comments about Remus.

It was _wrong_ to judge someone just because they got bitten by the wrong sort of creature when they were six years old. Remus _would_ make a good teacher, if someone was willing to give him the chance. And his lycanthropy shouldn't keep him from it.

Yet Peter also knew that society didn't think that way. If there had been 'cleaner' choices, Remus would never have had a chance, no matter, as Snape had put it, how safe twenty-odd more years of progress made werewolves. The stigma would still be there, so Snape's argument _was_ valid in the context of their society, no matter how much he hated to admit it.

"Perhaps his DADA professors in the other years _were_ … er … 'cleaner'."

A laugh from out of nowhere as Harry rounded the corner, pulling off the cloak. "Sorry, I couldn't help but hear that last remark. When I said that Remus was my best DADA professor, I _meant_ it."

"Not only did the teacher in my first year have a stutter and an extreme fear of his own shadow, he was possessed by Voldemort's spirit."

"In my second year, everyone was terribly excited. We would be taught by a _celebrity_ " a word imbued with scorn, but a scorn that seemed to go deeper than just his dislike for the person in question "who had written dozens of books about his exploits." A dangerous pause. "Not only was he the most _self-centered, arrogant bastard_ I have ever had the displeasure to meet, he didn't even have any _real_ experience –his books were written about the exploits of _other_ people, who he then subsequently obliviated."

A self-satisfied smirk. "I believe he's at St. Mungo's now –he tried to obliviate us with my friend Ron's wand, which had been broken at the beginning of the year, and ended up getting blasted himself."

"Third year was Remus, of course – and you already know how that ended."

"Fourth year might very well have given Remus a run for his money – we were taught by a retired Auror; he taught us about the Unforgivables among other things."

"Is that even _allowed_?" Peter yelped.

"So what was wrong with _him_?" Snape asked.

"Nothing …" Harry trailed off as his eyes hit Snape's face and two snippets of memory came floating back.

First, Voldemort. Three missing people … a coward, a traitor, and one who had already reentered his service.

Then, that day in Potions, when Karkaroff had rushed in, trying to show Snape something on his arm, talking about how 'it' was 'coming back'.

"Snape, do you know where Voldemort puts the Dark Mark?" Left arm. It had been something on his left forearm.

The Slytherin blinked. "I … don't know. I hadn't decided yet, so no one has let me in on any truly sensitive information …" He trailed off. "In previous years, I saw some of the older ones – the ones that I'm pretty sure _are_ Death Eaters – holding hushed conferences and showing each other their arms …"

Harry nodded slowly. "It makes sense. It all makes sense …"

'The traitor: Professor Snape. Somehow, he must have found out." Snape seemed inclined to protest being labeled a 'traitor' until he remembered who he was being referred to as a betrayer of.

"The coward: Igor Karkaroff. Especially if he did run, as he seemed likely to."

Harry began to pace, still thinking furiously. "And the inside operative … the only prominent, new person at Hogwarts … was Moody?" He shook his head. "But how? Moody was an extremely famous Auror, famous especially for not believing in mercy of any kind towards Death Eaters, whatever their age, whether or not they turned back to the Light. He would never have been one himself."

Pace, pace. Stop, as his entire body went rigid. "Of _course_! Polyjuice Potion! He only ever drank from that hip flask of his … and he usually drank at least once or twice during our class – of course he'd have had to, because it was more than an hour long."

"Now, the only question is, who was he really?" Harry kicked at the floor. "This is one of those times I really wish I _hadn't_ died. I just have to hope that _someone_ figured it out in time …"

"… I can see now why a werewolf might actually be a step up." Snape noted dryly.

"So are you not dueling after all?" Harry asked happily. "Splendid. What changed your mind?"

"Talking about you was _far_ more interesting." Peter said impishly.

Snape just shrugged. "Not worth the effort." _Besides,_ he added inwardly, _hurting Pettigrew would hurt Harry, and that is something I have sworn not to do. I would not have yielded this duel of my own free will, but now that the opportunity has appeared,_ I _certainly won't insist on continuing …_

He pointedly neglected to look closely at that tiny part of himself that, because of their recent conversations, had begun to look at the blond Gryffindor as a decent conversational companion, someone worth not hurting in his own right.

* * *

"Albus?"

The Headmaster looked up from his desk, surprise passing only briefly across his face. "Filius? What brings you here?"

The young Charms instructor entered the office proper, hesitance lingering in his eyes. "Well … you mentioned yesterday that we should be on the lookout for anything … unusual. And, well, this really isn't anything major … but it was rather unusual … so I thought I'd err on the side of caution." He passed a roll of parchment across the desk. "Read it, please."

Now rather puzzled as well as curious, Albus unrolled it and began reading. It was, as he had expected, an essay from Filius' Charms class – one on the Patronus Charm, which made it a seventh-year essay. The top inch of parchment – where the student's name was no doubt written – had been quite intentionally folded over and creased. So, for some reason, Filius did not want him to know just _which_ seventh-year just yet.

A _very_ well-thought-out seventh-year essay, despite the occasional grammatical inconsistencies. Not only did it examine the charm, its incantation and uses, but it went quite in-depth, providing information that could almost only have been gained firsthand. Including a few speculations that he privately agreed with, but were still seen in the larger magical community as highly controversial.

" _The Patronus requires more than just an incantation and a happy memory. It also requires a great deal of willpower and a sincere wish for the Patronus to appear. If a person holds back, if even one tiny portion of them does not want the Patronus to appear, then it won't, no matter_ how _happy the memory involved."_

He read on, fascinated. As he read, he formulated hypotheses. A Ravenclaw, almost certainly, although _where_ they had received the necessary experience … perhaps young Remus Lupin; Charms might not be his best subject, but considering how high _all_ his grades were, that was not necessarily saying all that much … Not to mention that the Patronus _was_ a good Defense charm, and young Remus was _the_ best DADA student in his year, hands down.

"Well?" Filius asked.

"It's … brilliant. A bit more polish, and it would be the sort of article that several magazines I can think of would be happy to print. Whose is it? Mr. Lupin?"

Surprisingly, Filius shook his head. "No, actually. Mr. Lupin's essay was quite good, and Mr. Pettigrew's rather better than his usual fare as well – I suspect they were working together. They also had hints of personal experience, but it was secondhand; it is my guess that both Mr. Lupin and Mr. Pettigrew were working with _him_." A nod towards the essay.

Lupin being willing to work with one other, much less two, was unusual in and of itself. The young werewolf was a bit too standoffish for his own good at times, Dumbledore sometimes thought. He folded up the flap that had been hiding the name.

And stared.

_James Potter?_

* * *

"I'm bored."

 _:You could get ahead on your homework. So_ I _don't get saddled with it all, as I seem to have lately …:_

 _:Not_ all _of it …:_ James protested weakly. _:Just Charms and DADA …:_

 _:Just your worst class and the assignment that actually required research, you mean.:_ Despite the words, the tone was not particularly harsh. Though he'd prefer not to have any, of course, Harry found he didn't particularly mind the homework that had been thrown his way recently. So far. He couldn't guarantee that that would always be the case – especially when they started covering _real_ seventh-year stuff, stuff that he didn't have the background to even begin to understand, much less do.

But what he had done so far had been grounding, in a weird way. Sitting there, working with Remus and Peter, he could almost imagine that he was back with Ron and Hermione. Except with less bickering. Besides, having homework was a guaranteed method of putting James to sleep as quickly and painlessly as possible. _Definitely_ a good thing, what with the investigating he wanted to do … soon, before it was too late …

Rays from the sun through a nearby window struck James' eyes and Harry winced sympathetically. As always, the sun's coming through that particular window signified that sunset would be coming soon. _:Well, if you have anything you want done, you might want to go ahead and do it soon.:_

 _:Do you think we could get you a body of your own in that period of time?:_ James suggested facetiously.

 _A body of my own …_ Harry sighed inwardly. It would make things _so_ much easier if he didn't always have to wait until James fell asleep to get anything important done. _:If only …:_ But how? No, exorcism was the clear choice. Perhaps this time he would become a _proper_ ghost …

"Mr. Potter?" Harry started, though James did not, at the sound of Professor McGonagall's voice. He had been more deeply involved in his thoughts than he had realized, evidently – the professor stood only a few feet away. He should have noticed her before she spoke. "The Headmaster would like to speak with you."

Had he been the one in control, Harry would have bitten his lip. Too close … _:Cross your fingers and hope that this will be a short meeting … unless you're thinking about telling Dumbledore now?:_

He could almost hear the rusty gears cranking in the elder Potter's mind. _:Might as well. Seems pretty obvious by now that you're probably not going to leave on your own …:_

_:Believe me, I would if I could. If I knew how. So that's what was holding you back … I had wondered…:_

On Harry's part, the decision not to suggest going to Dumbledore had been less deliberate and more of a habit. Seeing the Headmaster was an event reserved for when he was called, as soon as he recovered from whatever annual death-defying act he had managed to survive _this_ time, and when his scar hurt. Anything 'less' was automatically classified as not worth the Headmaster's time and energy. (And apparently, he considered turning into some sort of ghost-like being who was possessing his father 20 years in the past to be 'less'…)

"Mr. Potter?" Their internal dialogue, short as it had been, still had evidently taken longer than it had seemed; Professor McGonagall was beginning to look impatient.

"Sorry. Got a bit distracted." James stood and flashed what Harry had dubbed as his 'charming' smile. "Lead on, my good Professor."

The professor and Head Boy were about halfway to the Headmaster's office when someone crashed into James. Harry caught a confused impression of blond hair, pale skin, and a high-pitched voice with certain cultured overtones that sounded scarily familiar, hurriedly apologizing, "Sorry Professor, Head Boy, I'm really _really_ sorry I bumped into you, butI'mkindofinahurryrightnowsobye ," before careening onward.

Belatedly, all the impressions connected in Harry's mind. _:Malfoy?:_ He yelped.

 _:Oh, did you know him?:_ James asked absently.

 _:Please tell me that was not Lucius Malfoy … because for someone_ that much _younger than you to have a son my age in twenty-odd years is just … wrong.:_

 _:No … that was Claudius Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy,:_ There was a great deal of distaste in James' mental voice for the elder Malfoy scion – finally something the two agreed wholeheartedly on _:is his father. He's a third-year, I think. Ravenclaw?:_

 _:Really …:_ Harry was surprised. Sure, the Malfoy child's _(Claudius? How had he not known that Malfoy had an older brother?)_ actions had been quite un-Slytherin – not only careening down the halls in a very undignified manner, but then actually bothering to apologize! – but still … _:A Malfoy not in Slytherin … I thought I'd never see the day …:_

And, privately, with the strongest barrier up that he could make to guard his thoughts from James, _A Malfoy here. Perhaps the diary …_

_But … surely no one would do that to their own son! Not even Lucius Malfoy!_

_Surely …_

* * *

"If you would not mind, Mr. Potter, could you please tell me under what circumstances you learned the Patronus Charm?" The old man, not noticeably younger than the last time Harry had seen him, retained his trademark genial smile and twinkling eyes … yet the trappings of senility rested less comfortably, leaving Harry far more aware, and wary, than normal of the power – both magical and otherwise – that the old man held.

James blinked. "Er … Professor Flitwick has been teaching us _about_ it in Charms recently …"

 _:Oh crud. It's the essay:_ Harry moaned. _:I_ knew _I should have just stuck to the information in the books …:_

_:Oh, come on. It can't have been that bad. Even if it was, I doubt Flitwick could have told the difference.:_

_:Not too bad. Too_ good _. Too much information that can only be gained from personal experience, which it sounds like you don't have. You should probably begin making your excuses about 'your-friend-Harry' now …:_

James' eyes narrowed. Okay, that was going a bit far. He knew he was not the greatest at Charms – to be entirely honest, he tended to compound his lack of natural aptitude with a lack of willingness to put any effort into it – but that a _fourth-year_ would know more than he did …!

Dumbledore's smile became slightly less genial – from any other professor, it would have been a disappointed frown. "Mr. Potter, I would ask that you please not evade the question. This" he rested his hand on a piece of parchment that lay on his desk "is work that is not only far beyond your usual performance at Charms, but that requires a great deal of personal experience … experience that you seem to be implying that you could not possibly have."

James sighed. Apparently, said fourth-year was also right. "That's because I didn't write the essay." He muttered, only barely loud enough for Dumbledore to hear.

The Headmaster looked shocked. To hear the _Head Boy_ admitting point blank that he let someone else do his homework for him …

"I put it off until Thursday night, you see." James continued, a tidbit that was unsurprising but also not seemingly terribly pertinent to the conversation. "But I had forgotten that I wouldn't be available after sunset … so I had to let Harry do it for me."

"Harry?"

"Harry is … a spirit of some sort. I don't know that we've figured out exactly what he is yet. Wednesday night he … possessed me. After that" grimace " _episode_ , I woke up the next morning with control of my own body back, but then that evening we switched again. So as far as we can tell we've got some sort of strange timeshare going on. I get the days …"

The last rays of sun through the window winked out as though on cue; James staggered and shrunk, to be replaced by a much smaller, skinnier boy with brilliant green eyes. "… and I get the nights. Good evening, Professor Dumbledore."

" _You're_ Harry?" Dumbledore eyed the boy doubtfully. "How old are you? Twelve? Thirteen?" If there was anything less believable than James Potter writing that essay on the Patronus, it instead having been written by a boy this young – and a spirit at that – certainly qualified.

The boy frowned, and with a bit of an edge to his voice said, "Yes, I know I'm short. You don't have to rub it in. I'm fourteen, if you actually want to know." He blinked. " _Although_ … I seem to have skipped over my birthday … so does that mean that I'm actually fifteen now …?"

The boy seemed entirely ready to drift off on that (admittedly rather intriguing) tangent, so Dumbledore quickly redirected the conversation. "From the way Mr. Potter was speaking, I was expecting someone a bit … older. I am expected to believe that you wrote this?" Again his hand rested on the parchment. "No school I know of teaches the Patronus before sixth year at the earliest – some don't teach it at all."

"My school didn't teach it. My DADA instructor did. He gave me private lessons last year … or I guess it's the year before last, now." In many ways, skipping from the end of June to early November had actually thrown him off more than the fact that he had also returned eighteen years into the past and (probably) switched dimensions. A blink. "Or, alternately, roughly sixteen years from now …" If he was planning on gaining Dumbledore's help, he was sure he'd have to reveal more about himself than he really wanted to, so might as well get started early. Though hopefully he would at least be able to hide the full extent of his 'relationship' with Voldemort … he still wasn't ready.

"You are … from the future." This was the final proof to something Harry had long suspected. There was no way, if he hadn't known about Harry in the first place, that he could have known that Harry was from the future. Dumbledore's famous act of seeming to know everything was just that – an act. He knew a lot, certainly, but even when he didn't, he just used equal parts deductive reasoning and not _showing_ his surprise to make it seem like he had known all along.

Nice little trick, that. "Yes … and no. I am from _a_ future. I sincerely hope, and am almost certain, that it is not _this_ future."

"It won't be." A new voice; both turned.

Sirius and Lily lingered near the doorway as Remus, Peter, and Snape stepped forward. It was the last who had spoken. "I owe _you_ that debt now."

"Even if we were originally different … which I like to think some of us were … you have changed us even more, just with your presence." Remus stood tall, and in the lamplight his golden eyes almost seemed to glow.

"I won't _let_ what happened, happen." The stocky blond was perhaps the fiercest of them all.

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "How many know about you, Mr. …" He was obviously fishing for a last name; the others leaned forward eagerly as well.

Harry's green eyes glinted. "Harry." He said firmly. Then, more quietly, "… I'm still not ready to be him again. Not yet …" _Harry Potter may not be the celebrity he is in my time … but I don't want to deal with being James and Lily's son, either. Especially now that they know how they died … because eventually the question would come up as to how I Lived._

He shook his head and answered the question that had been asked outright. "All those in this room and one of Lily's friends. Er … Erica?" If Lily was a satellite of sorts to the Marauders, Erica Brown was a satellite of Lily's – from what he had seen, she spent most of her time with one or the other, but generally not both. Since that first night he had actually transformed from James to himself, he honestly could not recall reencountering the other girl, other than the occasional brief glimpse at a distance or from across the common room.

"Forgive an old man his curiosity, but although I am not surprised that the rest of James' group knew, how did young Mr. Snape, here, find out?"

"When I first appeared Wednesday night, Snape was the first person I encountered – besides James, of course." He glossed over the details for everyone's sake and, though Snape shot him a quick look – probably wanting to know why he wasn't proclaiming the fact that he had saved the Slytherin's life far and wide – no one else volunteered any further information. "He knew immediately that I was not James."

Snape snorted. "Potter may be skinny, but he's not quite _that_ skeletal. You're a _lot_ lighter."

"Hey! I eat a _lot_ during the school year!" Harry protested. "I am _not_ skeletal!"

"… and shorter …" Snape mused, enjoying this chance to provoke the boy to whom he owed his life.

"Oi!" Now Harry looked really offended. "That is _so_ not fair! I bet I would have grown at least a foot next year had I survived." He glared at the ceiling. "Man … it figures that I would die _before_ my growth spurt hit. To be short for eternity … this sucks."

For the first time hearing the information stated so baldly, Snape began considering the ramifications of owing a life-debt to someone who was already dead. Interesting little logic puzzle, that …

"Which actually brings me to my question. Do you know any way to get me out of here? Both James and I are getting kinda tired of me possessing him … and I figure that if I'm supposed to start on an eternity of … whatever will actually end up happening … I might as well _get_ started. No point in delaying it any further."

He cocked his head. "What was it you told me that time? 'To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure'." A shy grin. "I can't claim to have the best-organized mind in the world, but it has certainly been an adventure so far. I might as well see to where it leads me next."

 _Oh, I like it. I'll have to remember that one …_ "I imagine that I can find someone skilled at exorcism fairly quickly." Dumbledore replied after some thought. Four people sprang to mind immediately, but all had fairly busy schedules or other commitments. "But first … I would like to know, how did you die? Was it Voldemort?"

Harry pursed his lips. "In a way." He conceded. Dumbledore was surprised – partly at the fact that Voldemort was _not_ , evidently, the sole cause of the boy's death, yet still cause enough to merit an 'in a way', but mostly at the way Harry had not flinched even the slightest bit when that name was said.

"I died dueling him, after all …" _Who_ is _this boy, that Voldemort would deign to duel personally?_ "… but it was _my_ curse, not his, that took my life." He stared off into space, the wand with a rare core of obsidian held tight to his chest, the power thrumming through it an obscure comfort against the memories of that night.

Remus frowned. "I don't think you ever _did_ tell us what the curse was that you used."

Harry looked at Dumbledore. Would he really be forced to answer this as well? The Headmaster nodded slowly, a familiar look of determination in his face. The fourth-year's shoulders slumped and he turned slowly to Snape. "Sirius once told me that you had a seventh-year's knowledge of dark curses when you first entered Hogwarts. Would you explain it to everyone else, please?"

Distracted from glaring at the black-haired Marauder mentioned (and trying to figure out whether he ought to feel complimented or insulted …), Snape nodded. "If I know it."

"Aside from Dumbledore, I hope you're the only one who does. It's _not_ a nice spell." He took a deep breath, let it out fully, and, in a quiet voice that nevertheless carried to every ear in the room, said sadly, " _Kawo Kedavre._ "

The crash of Dumbledore's chair as it fell to the ground when the old man suddenly stood almost completely drowned out Snape's gasp. Nothing, however, could hide the sudden excessive pallor to his already sallow face.

When after several tries, Snape's voice returned, it was as a squeak. Still, in the silent room, he was quite easily audible.

" _You cast the Soul Shredding Curse?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 14 March 2003  
> 6 September 2011  
> 5 September 2012  
> 5 April 2019


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Harry Potter still doesn't belong to me.
> 
> (4/20/2005: A few small changes - mainly just the shifting of the A/N rant to chapter 1.)
> 
> (11/26/2012: Minor edits and quotation mark / spacing updates)

Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry noted that Sirius had moved to cover the door and Lily had shifted closer to him; both they and Snape had their wands out, though after a moment Snape put his away, gazing steadily back at Harry with an odd look in his eyes. _Huh. If a life debt to my father was enough to make him do his best to protect me for four years, I suppose it's no surprise that a life debt to me, personally, would engender that level of … trust? Fatalism?_

The only part of Peter that had moved was his face – suffused now with determination. Determination … for _Harry's_ sake. Somehow, Harry realized, Peter had decided that he was worth protecting, if ever he needed that protection. How odd, that he'd find so staunch a friend in one who had once been so great an enemy … it showed him again just how different Peter was from his older counterpart.

Remus' face was a study in contradictions – it was evident that he, too, had recognized the spell – and his hand hovered over his wand pocket. After a long moment, he let it fall, empty, back to his side. "Please tell me," a quirky smile appeared on his face, "that I didn't teach _that_ to you, too."

Silently, Harry thanked Remus for breaking the increasingly uncomfortable silence, as he replied with a laugh, "No, of course not." Snape, he saw, looked vaguely guilty – which meant, Harry thought, that he had probably learned the details of what had happened to Remus at the end of Harry's third year. Had Peter told him?

Dumbledore's eyes no longer twinkled, and under that stern gaze he felt he ought to be quailing far more than he was. Instead, he felt calm; safe even. Part of that could be attributed to the reappearance of his 'snake' side, which formed an icy shield between him and reality; part, but not all.

Finally, he pinpointed the source of that extra … protection of sorts. _:Why?:_ He asked the presence in the back of his head, confused.

 _:For once, you were thinking rather loudly. Some of it has given me a great deal to think about. And, well …:_ A pause, and a sense of … embarrassment was the closest Harry could come to putting a name to the emotion. _:I still don't like you much. But you're not evil.:_

_:Despite the fact that I used one of the Darkest curses in existence?:_

Harry wasn't sure if James also recognized the curse, though he had expected it from Snape and wasn't terribly surprised that Remus had also recognized it.

 _:You also used it against one of the Darkest wizards in our lifetime. You_ ended the war _, Harry. Excuse me if I don't argue too strongly with your methods.:_

 _:Not unexpectedly:_ Harry mused, still gazing directly at Dumbledore's icy, suspicious eyes, _:there will always be those who will.:_ Given his opinion of the older boy, it considerably surprised Harry how much better he felt after gaining his father's approval, more or less, of his methods. Why? What little he knew of James now, he had a tendency not to like, so why was it that his approval evidently meant so much?

"Give me a reason why I should not have you sent to Azkaban right now." Contrary to his harsh words, the Headmaster had not yet moved to take his wand out, nor to take Harry's away. One only had to look into his eyes, though, to know he meant business.

"Because you'd also be consigning James to that horrible place." Harry answered immediately with the first objection that came to mind. "He'll be the first to agree that neither of us likes the other much, but no one deserves to be locked up in that place – especially not if they're innocent."

Sirius shuddered and, despite himself, relaxed slightly. He still recalled, very clearly, the odd smirk on Harry's face when he revealed to them Voldemort's original name. How could a fourth-year _know_ that sort of thing, unless he had some sort of contact with the Dark? The fact that he knew – from Snape and Dumbledore's reactions – an evidently _very_ Dark curse seemed only to prove his point.

Yet … to heck with it. He couldn't believe wholly evil anyone who wanted to keep James from having to experience Azkaban. Even if it was only as an excuse to keep himself out as well. Especially after learning that that was where he might end up in a few years, Sirius liked the thought of Azkaban even less than he had previously – especially where any of his friends were involved.

"Besides, I'm already dead. All you need to do is exorcise me, and you'll be rid of me." A considering look. "I _assume_ …"

"And if you come back?" Dumbledore hadn't wavered.

"I swear I don't mean any harm to Hogwarts." Harry licked his lips. "I'm even willing to swear under Veritaserum, if necessary. The only person I really hate and would like to see hurt is Voldemort." A lopsided grin. "And I somehow don't think you have much of a problem with _that_ particular inclination."

The twinkle had begun to return to Dumbledore's eyes, though they were no less piercing. "Hardly. Who are you, Harry?"

"I'm not Harry Riddle, as far as I know." He brought one hand up, touched the skin just to the side of his eyes. "I inherited my eyes from my mother's side of the family. And she was Muggle-born, so it is unlikely that I am _his_ grandson, either."

"That is who you are not. But who _are_ you?" There had been a flash of suspicion – probably at the fact that Harry had known the Riddle name.

"Just Harry." Now that he had decided his course, he was determined to stick to it. _I'm not ready. This time of … peace … I'm not going to give that up by shattering it. I don't want my memories of this place – if, that is, I retain my memories, wherever I end up next – to be compromised by the fallout that revelation would cause._ "I'll be gone soon … isn't that enough?"

Dumbledore reluctantly agreed, though his demeanor shouted _"No!"_ And the rest of the group assembled stared at the boy who had convinced their Headmaster to back down.

* * *

After leaving Dumbledore's office, the group split fairly quickly. Black had used his persuasive skills and puppy-dog eyes to the utmost to convince Evans to come down to the kitchens with him to snatch a quick snack; Pettigrew and Lupin had pled off and were heading straight back to Gryffindor Tower.

And Harry … as he tailed the black-haired boy, Snape became more and more convinced that Harry was _not_ just setting out on his own in order to take a short-cut back to Gryffindor Tower. That suspicion grew to certainty when Harry stopped at a restroom in a little-used corridor on the first floor (more or less – at Hogwarts, it was sometimes rather hard to tell).

A girls' restroom.

A _haunted_ girls' restroom.

Both eyebrows so high they nearly merged with his hairline, he watched as the spirit took a cursory look in both directions, opened the door, and vanished inside.

Snape, of course, followed.

"… not a girl." The plump and rather unattractive ghost sniffed. Snape's eyes narrowed. So _this_ was the notorious Moaning Myrtle that the Slytherin girls had always complained so bitterly about. She looked rather more … unprepossessing than he had expected.

"I know." Harry managed to sound vaguely apologetic. "But, you see, my friend Hermione told me ever so much about you, so when I found myself in the area, I thought I'd drop in." Oh, now Snape _knew_ Harry was lying through his teeth.

"Really?" Her sad face brightened slightly. "Oh, that was nice of her. You're much nicer than that other boy who comes here." Her chin quivered, and she appeared on the verge of descending back into her previous state of depression.

Harry stiffened so much that even a first-year _Hufflepuff_ could have seen it. Maybe becoming a ghost did something to your observational skills, though, because Moaning Myrtle kept prattling on. "He doesn't even seem to notice I exist!"

Once again prompting Snape to wonder (though not, this time at least, aloud) whether the spirit was _really_ as Gryffindor as he claimed, the brief hole in his mask closed, and he returned to his former appearance of completely relaxed affability. "Oh, that's really too bad of him. I would never treat a pretty girl like you like that."

It was almost like watching Potter trying to charm girls – though that activity had mostly stopped once he and Evans started going out officially – or one of their teachers. Except people usually laughed at Potter. Then again – and this was admitted _extremely_ grudgingly – he was a master at convincing the people laughing at him to do what he wanted anyway.

Snape leaned forward slightly, fascinated. Was that actually a _blush_ on Moaning Myrtle's cheeks? He hadn't known that ghosts _could_ blush – other than Harry, that is. But Harry was something of a different case; he wasn't _really_ a ghost, just … not alive anymore.

"You know," she started shyly, looking down at her feet, then coyly up at Harry through her eyelashes, "I think you're the nicest boy I've ever met. When you die … I wouldn't mind if you came and shared my toilet …"

"I'm afraid I can't." He _still_ sounded regretful. Even Snape wasn't sure he'd be capable of sounding anything but nauseated after that … offer. "You see, I'm already dead."

"But you're solid." She pointed out, beginning to pout. "You _look_ alive."

"That's because I'm possessing James Potter. Once I get exorcised, I honestly don't know _where_ I'll end up. But I don't think I'll be a ghost."

She frowned. "Well, that's not very nice of you." Harry opened his mouth and she deflated. "I know, I know, you can't choose how you end up when you die." Her voice lowered. "Did … did the _yellow eyes_ get you too?"

 _Now_ Snape was confused. And he was not liking the experience. What in the world were "the yellow eyes", and how could eyes be capable of killing anyone? Yet, somehow, Harry still seemed to know what she was talking about, as he was already shaking his head. "No, I died as a result of a curse. My friend Hermione, and one of our prefects, and … oh, a number of people got petrified by the yellow eyes, but luckily no one was killed."

 _Petrification … seeing yellow eyes …_ Suddenly, Snape made the connection he had been missing, and fell against the wall in shock – far too audibly. _A_ basilisk _! Harry's seen a_ basilisk _! Here at Hogwarts!_

Then Moaning Myrtle was in his face, and he saw that she was even homelier (to be kind) up close. "You're not a girl either!"

"Snape?" Harry hadn't moved, but now he was looking in the other boy's direction. "What are you … never mind." Now he moved up to stand between Myrtle and Snape. "Myrtle, this is a friend of mine, Severus Snape. He's a Slytherin, so please forgive him for giving in to temptation and following me here. I assure you, he's _probably_ not as scary as he looks."

The glint in Harry's eyes gave Snape the impression that this was Harry's revenge against him, even as his voice remained reassuring and entirely innocent.

Myrtle examined him. "Well, if he's a _Slytherin_ … are they still all so nasty?"

Harry gave the impression of considering that statement. "Even more so, now, if arguably partly out of self-defense: Tom Riddle has become a Dark Lord, so now _everyone_ thinks all Slytherins are evil."

"Riddle? Really?" Her eyes widened. "Wow, I really ought to keep better track of current events, shouldn't I? I mean, he was always rather _cold_ , and kinda mean, but a Dark Lord …"

 _What_ is _he?_ Snape watched Myrtle and Harry continue to converse about some student named Tom Riddle, who was apparently also Voldemort. _How does he know so much? He seems to know all the secrets of this place. Is this all common knowledge twenty years from now? Somehow, I don't think so …_ For the first time, for a brief moment, he began to entertain the notion that Harry really was evil, that he was just taking them in for some unspecified reason.

But no. He wasn't sure why, but he _knew_ that Harry was Good. He had a dark side, perhaps – who did not? – but darkness did not equate to evil. As a Slytherin, he ought to know that better than anyone. If Harry was evil, he himself would have been left to die at Lupin's hands – unlike Harry's mythical version of James Potter, Snape felt perfectly certain that _this_ particular incarnation of his nemesis would have happily left him to die.

Yet even that could have been explained away, had he had an ulterior motive. Why was he so sure that Harry was really what he seemed? Perhaps – though he was reluctant to admit it – it came down to that small thing that he had thought himself devoid of.

Faith.

* * *

He walked down the hall, careful not to make a noise but otherwise confident. He was Slytherin, after all, and Slytherins are not seen unless they wish to be seen.

The child had stopped screaming, he noted absently, and had subsided into an apathetic silence, now devoid of anything even resembling hope. How … delicious.

He grasped the door handle, as always reveling in the feeling that proved that he was once again in the land of the living, and turned, entering into the bathroom. Except … there was something in the way. A tall, black something. As he bumped into it, it turned, and he looked up (and up …) to see, first a Slytherin patch, then a prefect badge, then a face that looked vaguely familiar. A Slytherin prefect. Perfect – there was no way that he would be stopped by one of his own.

"Snape. Don't let him get away." An unfamiliar voice, quick and sharp. He looked past the tall prefect to a much younger boy – a bit older than this body, he thought, but still certainly younger than he had been – that made him feel for a moment like he was looking into a mirror.

Except for the fact that the black hair stood out far worse than his ever had, the shape of the face was subtly different, and – oh yeah! – he didn't exactly look like himself at the moment.

The prefect raised an eyebrow and shot an inquiring glance at the boy, but agreeably clamped a hand around his arm – rather harder than necessary, really – dug into his pocket, and took his wand. _Damn it!_ He cursed. The wand hadn't liked him very much, but a reluctant wand was better than none at all. How was he going to get out of this now? "Why are you doing this to me?" He asked innocently. "I really don't know what this other guy has against me … and, after all, we're both …" He trailed off into confused silence. _He doesn't know who I am … and this body I'm wearing isn't a Slytherin's. So, to him, we're not. Curses …_

"Both what, Tom?" The boy who looked so much like him drifted closer. "Both … oh … Slytherins, perhaps?" He suggested lightly. "Except you're not anymore. How does it feel to be a Gryffindor, O Heir to Slytherin? And from a family of 'lowborn muggle-loving' Gryffindors, at that." His voice had taken on a mocking lilt, and Tom began to understand why so many people were cowed by his eyes – the green was so intense that it threatened to drown and incinerate him at the same time. _How does he know? No one was supposed to know … it wasn't supposed to work this way …_

A surge of triumph was his only warning as, reenergized by the unexpected sign of hope, his host took control of their body just long enough to draw out the diary – _his_ diary – and send it hurtling through the air towards the boy.

A look of surprised respect found its way onto the boy's face as he deftly caught the flying volume. "Thank you, Bill. Saves me the need to remove it from him myself." His voice went back to that lilting tone. "Honestly, Tom, what is it with you and possessing Weasleys? First Ginny, now Bill …"

Tom/Bill blinked, for once united in their confusion. "I really don't know what you're talking about."

A smile that verged on becoming a smirk slowly appeared on the boy's lips. "No, you wouldn't, would you? And now you never will." He hefted the diary experimentally. "Say goodbye, Voldemort."

 _How did he_ know –

– In seeming slow motion, the diary arced through the air –

– The boy – _I still don't know his name_ – raised his wand –

" _Incendio!_ "

– His world dissolved into a whirlwind of fire and pain.

* * *

Snape abruptly let go as the boy he was holding began to shine a bright white light and scream. Harry just watched the tableau unworriedly … almost as if he had seen it before. Finally, the boy collapsed noisily to the ground and something skittered to rest at Harry's feet. He picked the small object up, exposing it to the light.

A single fang, attached to what looked like a clip-on earring. For some reason, this strange object brought a completely sincere, amused smile to Harry's face. The spirit shook his head. "It figures. I bet he never wears this at home."

"Definitely." Came a mumble from the ground. "Mum would hamstring me." The red-headed child – third-year, if Snape remembered correctly – tried to stand, failed, and finally settled for propping himself up on his elbows to look at the two. "Whoever you are, thank you very much for saving me from … him."

Harry simplified the Weasley child's dilemma by sinking into a cross-legged position. After a moment of hesitation – _I feel so ridiculous_ – Snape sank to his knees, salving his pride with the knowledge that he was still the tallest of the three by a fair bit.

Besides, would they tell? He knew Harry wouldn't. And as for the red-haired kid … perhaps a bit of constructive intimidation would be in order. Later. Certainly not while Harry was watching … he had a feeling that the spirit would not approve. And Snape had been given ample proof, in his opinion at least, that doing things that Harry disapproved of while he was around was definitely _not_ a bright idea.

Then again, what he didn't know, wouldn't hurt him, right?

"It was my pleasure." A shadow of the toothy grin he had worn while destroying the diary passed across his face. "Your mother was always kind to me; all of you made me feel like I was part of your family. Besides, _I_ certainly don't want the basilisk to be let loose on the school again simply because that bastard Lucius decided to move certain plans of his up twenty years."

"Claudi said that it was a goodwill gift from his father. That his father wanted to end the Weasley-Malfoy feud just as much as we did." The quietness to the boy's voice was not solely due to his apparent exhaustion, and the way he bit his lip showed that that was the only thing that was keeping it from quivering.

"He might have thought so himself." Harry said gently. "Lucius could have tricked him. I wouldn't immediately assume the worst."

Bill lowered his head, part abashed and part relieved. "I didn't want to … I don't know if I really could. He's my best friend. But I can't seem to forget that he's also a Malfoy …"

"And he probably has a hard time forgetting, sometimes, that you're a Weasley." Harry sighed. "Look, Bill, if this friendship matters to you, go for it. It will be hard – no matter how Lucius lies, neither of your families will be pleased, probably not ever. Everyone you know will tell you 'He's a no-good Malfoy.' 'He's evil, just like the rest of them.' They'll find every wedge they can to drive you apart."

A girl named Shirley had moved to Little Whinging when Harry was in second grade. The first day of school, she sat next to him, they talked – though it was mostly her talking; Harry was too well conditioned to keep quiet – and it seemed like a friendship was budding.

But everyone knew about Harry Potter, that no-good, lazy waste-of-space the poor Dursleys had been inflicted with because his parents had been so foolish as to get themselves killed in a drunk driving accident. Soon enough, Shirley knew too.

Within a month, she ceased to exist as an individual to Harry. She was just another faceless tormentor in the mob that made his days hell and occasionally even invaded his dreams. He had taken the lesson to heart: until Hagrid and, later, Ron and Hermione had come along and so easily broken all his barriers, he had become quite adept at remaining alone. Sometimes, he had almost been able to convince himself that he preferred it that way.

A shake of his head. "What I'm trying to say, Bill, is that you need to convince yourself – to truly _believe_ , in your heart of hearts – that Claudius is more than 'just another evil Malfoy' … before a host of well-meaning friends and family convinces you that that's _all_ he is."

A look of determination crossed his face. "I will." A curious glance. "Who _are_ you? I don't know that I've seen you before."

"I'm Harry." The aforementioned spirit pushed himself to his feet. "Now, you must be exhausted. In addition to the late hour, Tom's probably been feeding off your energy for quite a while now. Let's get you to the Hospital Wing, hm?" He started trying to pick up the younger boy.

Snape stood as well, looking from the third-year to the (fourth? fifth?)-year, who looked about the same size and weight. If anything, the Weasley looked slightly more bulky. He sighed in resignation, rolled his eyes, and unclasped his arms. "Don't even try, Harry. You might hurt yourself." _Am I really going to do this? I'm insane …_ "I'll carry him."

_If anyone actually sees me doing this, I'll never live it down …_

* * *

The same group that had been there for the confrontation the previous night now gathered in Dumbledore's office to await the appearance of the exorcist who had, surprisingly, agreed to come on extremely short notice.

The fire in Dumbledore's fireplace suddenly flared, turning green for a moment before a figure spun out of it, brushing the soot off her rather plain dress. "I do hope this is a fairly quick job, Professor. Arthur managed to get home early tonight, but you _know_ how he is with the children, and he simply _can't_ handle Percy for any long period of time."

"Mrs. Weasley?" Harry blurted, surprised the exorcist was actually someone he knew. Especially someone he had always thought of as the epitome of the stay-at-home mother.

She turned to face him, running her gaze from his head to his toes. "So, are you my project? I assume you knew me, wherever you came from."

"Yes ma'am." He returned respectfully, all the while furiously counting up years in his head. "Er … not to be rude or anything, but are you sure that …" he ran down, unable to come up with a polite way of putting it. Finally, he settled for bluntness. "The twins won't be hurt by whatever it is you'll do to exorcise me, will they?"

"Twins?" She looked puzzled.

"Did you not know?" He regretted saying anything. "But … they were born in April … I'm _pretty_ sure '78 … so you should be a good four months along by now, right?"

"Oh, you mean …" one hand drifted to her stomach, accompanied by a small, incredulous smile. "I certainly didn't know I was carrying twins. I must tell Arthur when I get home …"

Harry bit his lip. "Well, you did in my world … you might not here … I really don't know how different things are. But Bill still exists … and Charlie too, I assume … and you already mentioned Percy …"

"Yes, I have three sons. What about … the twins?"

"The … oh. Both boys. Where I come from, at least." The conversation devolved into silence. "I suppose we ought to get on with it." A quirky smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "You need to save your husband from Percy, after all."

Harry turned back to look at the group arrayed behind him. "Before I disappear, I'd just like to say … thanks." Harry looked at all their faces, slowly panning his gaze as he caught each pair of eyes, finally turning back forward to catch the Headmaster's gaze as well. "And Professor Dumbledore? The Chamber of Secrets should be safe again."

"So it _was_ you who left me that note." His eyes narrowed. "How sure are you?"

"Let's just say that, as far as I know, the only person left who could open the Chamber" _besides me … but no one needs to know that … Dumbledore is already too close to believing me a Dark wizard as it is …Interesting, the way our 'relationship' has developed without the protection of the Potter name._ "is Voldemort. And if _he_ made it into the school, I think you'd have far bigger problems to deal with than the Chamber of Secrets."

"Indeed." There, the twinkle. As always, it had something of a relaxing effect on Harry.

Harry turned back. "Peter – our worlds are different. _Never_ forget that. Only you determine what choices you make. Make the decisions that are right for _you_. Even if no one else understands, I like to think that, wherever I end up, I will."

"I will remember." His braid was wrapped around his hand two, three times, his grip tight. "I promise."

"Sirius …" He looked at the boy who would become his godfather in another world. "I know you don't like me much and, to be frank, I don't like you all that much either. But I still hope you lead a good and happy life. Just try to keep a cool head, all right?"

Perhaps the first hint of a genuine smile he had seen directed at _him_ , not James. "That can be harder than it sounds … but I guess I have ample reason, now, to try, huh?"

"Lily … it has been nice seeing you alive, even if I never really got to know you well." Harry grinned. "I'm sure you'll be glad I'm gone, even if only because you no longer need to worry about who's watching." She blushed. "Seriously, I hope the two of you are happy together." _For more than four years …_

"Thanks." She was still blushing, but it had died down a bit.

"Snape …" He trailed off. What _did_ he want to say to the boy who was, in his own odd way, a friend, who could become the man he had despised? "I can't ask you to _like_ them …"

"… Can I at least lobby for self-defense?" The Slytherin asked sardonically.

"That would be allowable, I think." They shared a smile, each in his own way – from Harry, a full-blown grin; from Snape, a smirk that seemed a bit more good-natured than usual.

"I'm a Slytherin. I'll survive."

"Don't merely survive, though. _Live_." He dug through his pocket, then tossed what he found to Snape. "Keep my wand, will you? I get the feeling you'd be most compatible with it." And whatever Dumbledore thought of that bit of information could go hang.

The Slytherin caught and stowed the wand away reluctantly. "I fully expect to return it to you in twenty years or so – even if I have to test it out on every black-haired, green-eyed baby in Britain."

 _Oh, I'll be much closer than that._ He grinned. "Good luck." Another turn. "Remus … never forget that you're more than just the beast. You're a person, too, and you can't survive if you're too alone."

Remus nodded, his eyes expressing his doubt more eloquently than any words could have.

One more turn, to complete the circle. "Professor Dumbledore. I'm sure you'll be glad to see me gone, and for the sake of your peace of mind, I do hope that we never meet again."

Lastly, he turned to Mrs. Weasley. "I'm ready."

* * *

It was … what he could remember of his death. Only backwards. First, the confusing swirl of emotions, of senses, of pictures. The swirl of colors that faded to complete darkness … and, finally, impossibly, brightened to light.

To a corridor – it didn't really matter which – mostly empty, but occupied by two hauntingly familiar faces. "Ron? Hermione?" Harry rushed _(floated?)_ forward, circling around them. "You're all right! Listen, you'll never _believe_ what happened to me …"

"Do you think Harry's all right?" Hermione asked, biting worriedly on a fingernail. "… he vanished, didn't he?"

"Of course I'm all ri … well, I guess I _am_ dead, but other than that, I'm doing great!"

"I don't know, 'Mione … there's not really anything we can do right now, though. We just have to hope that the Headmaster knows what's going on and can do something."

"Hello? Ron? 'Mione!" Harry positioned himself right in front of the two and waved his hands vigorously. Then gasped at the shock as they walked straight through him without so much as a flinch. "Of all the …" He hovered around the two a few moments longer before convincing himself that no, they wouldn't suddenly become able to see him. That they probably wouldn't ever be able to see him again.

"Okay, _now_ death really sucks."

* * *

"Where is he?"

"We don't know, Sirius." Dumbledore looked like he was beginning to lose even his famously inexhaustible patience. "All we can do now is wait. Severus was called; he should be back soon to tell us what happened." A grave look. "I fear Voldemort has returned."

"Snape!" It was clear which part of that statement had caught the majority of Sirius' attention. "You'd trust that … that …"

"Oh, give it a rest!" Harry drifted through the office door just in time to catch Sirius' last statement. It was too much to hope for that the Headmaster would actually be able to see or hear him, but it still seemed like the place to go. And knowing that neither would hear him, telling his godfather what he really thought about his feud with the Slytherin professor – especially now that he had met the two in the past – was rather cathartic. "Snape is just as trustworthy as … as you! So just shut up, for once, Sirius, and stop letting your resentment of him get the better of your judgment."

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes came back full force. "I couldn't have said it better myself." Then dimmed. "Harry?"

Said spirit's mouth dropped open. "You … you can _hear_ me!" He jumped – or came as close as someone who was floating to begin with could. "Great! I was beginning to think I'd be doomed to wander alone, unable to interfere in events at all. That _was_ one of the postulated consequences, after all …"

"Harry?" Sirius blanched. "You're …"

"Respiratorially challenged?" He suggested impishly. "Yeah. But the good news is, so is Voldemort." A sharkish grin. "I finally got rid of that bastard. For good."

"For good?" From Dumbledore, almost as if it was too much to hope for.

"For good." Harry repeated, happy to be around a version of the man who did not regard him with some sort of suspicion. "Oh, and Professor? You have a leak here at Hogwarts. I think – though I can't _prove_ anything – that it's someone Polyjuicing as Professor Moody."

"What are you talking about? It's that bloody git …"

"Sirius. Stop." A cold tone. "I may not like Snape either, but at least I've learned to give him the benefit of the doubt. He may have been a Death Eater at one point, but at heart, he is now no more of one than you or I."

Dumbledore had a thoughtful look on his face. "That would explain why it seemed like he was unusually thirsty … ordinarily I would have expected him to leave his hip flask in his room at least during his classes …" A shake of his head. "Thank you, Harry. I'll look into it."

"Are you …" Sirius trailed off, shaking his head. Bitterly, "no, of course you're not all right. You're … _dead_."

"On the contrary, Sirius, now that Voldemort is no longer around to trouble us, I'm better than I have been in … a long time." _Maybe ever._ "I just regret all the pain I must be causing you and my friends and … everyone else." _This_ got Harry closer to tears than thoughts of his own death ever had. "And … Professor? … you might want to let the Diggorys know … Cedric's dead. I couldn't save him …"

"I feel like I've failed you." Sirius looked at his feet. "I should have been _there_ for you …"

"In the end, you couldn't. No one could have. I went to my death open-eyed, Sirius, and I don't regret it." No response. "Sirius, look at me. It. Was. Not. Your. Fault." Reluctantly, Sirius lifted his head, and their eyes met, brilliant green to pale grey-blue.

And the world shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 15 April 2003  
> 20 April 2005  
> 11 September 2011  
> 5 September 2012
> 
> (The End? You gotta be kidding me!)
> 
> ==   
> 5 April 2019


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two months, nearly. For this. And I don't even have the excuse that it's twice as long as normal … because it's actual rather on the short side, as chapters of this story go. *sigh*
> 
> It is … all Sirius' fault, I think. He and Harry were being bloody nightmares, giving me the worst writer's block I've ever had on this story. Thankfully, it seems to be over; the next chapter should not be nearly as long in coming. *crosses fingers* I hope.
> 
> Though I suppose not having finals and APs and graduation to worry about will help some, too. :P
> 
> Anyway, here it be. The only part of Harry Potter that belongs to me is a full set of the British version of the books, plus a copy of the fifth book pre-ordered from amazon. And … um … the remarkable nonentity that only shows up in one chapter, a Miss Erica Brown. For what it's worth.
> 
> So … enjoy.
> 
> (11/26/2012: more random minor edits)

He tumbled endlessly through … space? nothingness? eternity? … books he had not been aware he was holding _(how could he hold anything? he was_ dead _, he no longer_ had _a corporeal body with which to hold things)_ tumbling away from him down the stairs as he, too, began to fall, paralyzed by the sudden disorienting light, color, sound … the sudden _life_ , where a moment before there had been nothing.

Suddenly his shirt tightened across his throat as he was hauled back from the fall, literally by the scruff of his neck. "Thanks, James. That was a close one!" His mouth shaped words and a nervous laugh that his mind had not, as his hand rose of its own accord to rub his throat, as he found himself a helpless observer in another's body once again.

"Don't bother to thank me – and _especially_ not if you're going to confuse me with Potter." _Snape_ answered, the distaste for both that thought and the person who had uttered it quite clear. "I didn't do it for _you_ , Black … I just didn't think Harry would have taken too kindly to me letting you trip down the stairs and break your fool neck." The Slytherin turned on his heel and left.

"Yeah … well … thanks anyway." Sirius muttered, unsure himself whether he wanted Snape to hear.

 _:The more I see of him, the more I find myself almost_ liking _the greasy old bastard.:_ Harry chuckled to himself. _:Who would have thought?:_

"Harry?" Eyes wide, Sirius narrowly escaped falling down the stairs again – this time with no Snape there to catch him. "You're back?"

 _:Evidently.:_ Dryly. _:How long have I been gone? It was only a matter of minutes back in my time … world … whatever.:_

"It's been nearly a month." Sirius answered. A pause. "Waitasecond! What are you doing in _my_ head?"

 _:That_ is _the million-pound question, now isn't it?:_

* * *

"What do you want?" Having given up on class for the moment in favor of quizzing his new inhabitant, Sirius leaned against the corridor wall, arms crossed, looking for all the world like he was carrying on a conversation with a nearby suit of armor.

_:Um. World peace would be nice?:_

Sirius sighed gustily. _Should have known …_ "What do you want _from me_?" He rephrased.

Silence. _:Do I have to want anything specific?:_

 _:Well …:_ Sirius tried, for the first time, to direct a thought at the interloper instead of speaking aloud – though the halls were empty, so it wasn't like there was anyone around to hear and deem him crazy –and was rewarded by a perceptible shift in what he _could_ sense from the younger man towards anticipatory curiosity. _:I can almost see you landing in James' head on accident, but to come back …_ and _target me instead … makes me think that you want something.:_

 _:Hm. From your perspective I'd agree with you, but … whatever it is, this thing I do apparently doesn't work like that. I was back in my own time and place, informing the Headmaster and my godfather of Voldemort's death:_ a brief flash of fierce triumph that almost as quickly faded into a sort of … regret? _:and, of course, my own. I hope my godfather's okay … I disappeared so unexpectedly …:_

 _He … really cares._ It surprised Sirius, though perhaps it shouldn't have. But what little he had seen of Harry had seemed so … well, distant. Disconnected from reality. It was vaguely disconcerting to find the spirit _did_ care for someone.

 _:I may be dead_ now _, but alive I was as human as anyone, you know.:_ Harry replied, not as snippily as Sirius would have expected – especially considering the earfuls the Marauders (meaning primarily himself – the rift between the two of them and Remus and Peter had still not yet entirely healed) had received from James on the very subject once he was sure Harry had disappeared.

 _:I … hero-worshipped, I suppose … Dumbledore; I loved my friends, liked my dormmates, got along fairly well with just about everyone, most of the time, except Professor Snape and the Slytherins … I really liked Professor Lupin that year he was there, and my godfather …:_ In his mind's eye, Sirius could almost visibly see Harry trying to shake the mood off. _:Yes, Padfoot, I'm human.:_

_He said something about being back in his time; so he probably … Padfoot, you're an idiot._

Sirius sighed, resisting the impulse to smack himself. _:You just saw them, and here I am, salting raw wounds. I apologize, Harry … usually I'm not_ quite _this much of an oblivious moron.:_

He could feel Harry's mood begin to lighten – was he better at judging this sort of thing than James, or was Harry just not putting as much effort into shielding? – taking on an almost teasing tone. _:Could have fooled me.:_

* * *

_:What's wrong?:_

Sirius' head shot up from its former position, where he had been staring morosely at – or rather through – the cobblestones slightly in front of his feet. _:Nothing. What makes you think there was?:_

 _:You were brooding harder than my godfather – and_ you _don't have twelve years in Azkaban as an excuse.:_

 _:Twelve years in –:_ Sirius spluttered, now more sure than ever that Harry had some sort of connection to the Dark. _:What did he_ do _?:_

_:Falsely convicted of being a Death Eater, betrayal, murdering thirteen people …:_

… _Falsely_ convicted? This story was beginning to sound terribly familiar to the seventh-year. _:_ Me _?_ I _am your godfather?:_

 _:And despite my disagreements with you_ here _, I couldn't have asked for a better one.:_ Harry affirmed staunchly. _:… aside from the whole escaped-convict-on-the-run angle, of course. Kinda cuts down on visiting time.:_ Despite the flippant tone of the answer, Sirius could feel a sense of … regret? At not having had a chance to get to know him better?

 _:Well, at least I can –:_ Change into Padfoot, he had been about to say. But what if Harry didn't know? He had used the nickname, but what if he thought it was just a nickname? Whether Sirius would someday be the fourth-year's godfather or not, he was still not entirely convinced that Harry was _not_ affiliated with the Dark – in fact, nearly all the evidence that he had encountered seemed to point directly at that very conclusion; it was only his … what? Gryffindor sense of fairness? … that kept him from demanding something be done, kept him waiting until Harry provided incontrovertible proof one way or the other.

He'd like nothing more than to think that no one he associated with would be the sort to turn Dark –whether 'he' was himself, or the person with his name twenty years or so from now in a different universe – but even if that was true, it's not like he'd been around during Harry's formative years, so he – the other himself – Merlin this was confusing – probably _hadn't_ known Harry very well.

Besides, the fact that Harry knew an escapee from Azkaban, even if he _was_ innocent …

 _:Indeed.:_ Harry said, and for a moment Sirius panicked, thinking the spirit had been responding to his later thoughts. _:In fact, that's how you managed to escape, you said – evidently the Dementors:_ a barely perceptible flinch _:don't really notice animal emotions.:_

Sirius very quietly raised mental eyebrows. So the seemingly undauntable spirit _was_ afraid of something. Not that he blamed him in this case … he had had a chance encounter with a Dementor _once_ , and that had been _quite_ enough for him, thank you! But Harry was continuing. _:Though the first time I saw you, it was late at night, and your eyes seemed to be glowing … I nearly had a heart attack.:_ A self-deprecating chuckle. _:Then again, meeting you in human form for the first time wasn't exactly a walk in the park, either … you may not have actually_ been _a deranged mass murderer, but you certainly_ looked _the part.:_

 _:Comforting.:_ And so, genuinely, was the revelation that Harry already knew about his Animagus form. For one thing, it was one less secret he would have to (attempt to) hide from Harry – not exactly the easiest task, when they were sharing space in Sirius' head, and definitely not when he was almost certain that he was far more open than his fellow resident. For another … well, godson or not, Sirius didn't _think_ he'd ever reveal his Animagus form to someone he didn't fully trust, so it was also a indication of the trust the _other_ Sirius had in Harry, even if he did not feel the same.

That topic dealt with, he turned his mind to the image that he had thought, for a moment, that he had seen. It had been located in a place he recognized as the Shrieking Shack, and the focus had been a strange adult that could not have been anyone but himself. He had looked _old_ , though, and worse than that, an absolute mess – bruised, dirty, extremely frayed around the edges, and starved.

Though it was a silly thing to do, he reached up and touched his head, reassuring himself that his hair was still soft, silky, and only a little past the tips of his ears, not the elbow-length mess he thought he had seen. _:My hair was greasier than_ Snape's _. I didn't know that was_ possible _.:_ Belatedly, it occurred to him that that had probably not been the best move ever … considering that he knew the spirit regarded Snape as … well, certainly something far more congenial than he himself did.

Yet, surprisingly, Harry snickered. _:… how very true.:_ Then, shock. _:But … how did you … you_ saw _that?:_ An impression that he was shaking his head. _:Never mind. Stupid question. Can you see … this?:_ Another picture formed in his mind's eyes, this one more solid and longer lasting.

Two students, actually _looking_ the fourteen or fifteen Harry claimed as his age. A boy with fiery red hair and a girl who had bushy brown. _:That hair … the boy's a Weasley, right? I don't recognize the girl.:_

 _:Ron's Mrs. Weasley's youngest son.:_ Harry confirmed. _:I wouldn't expect you to recognize Hermione; she's Muggle-born. The two of them are …_ were _… my best friends.:_

This was beginning to give Sirius a serious desire to go somewhere else and scream. (Except how do you get away from someone who's living in your head?). Every time he thought he finally had Harry figured out, the spirit sprung something else on him, something that upset all his calculations. Before, he had been perfectly content disliking Harry, secure in his belief that the boy was a younger, slightly more congenial, and (thankfully) dead Dark wizard (in training).

Then the spirit had to admit that Sirius was his godfather (a shock in and of itself … who would be foolish enough to choose _him_ as mentor to a young, impressionable child?), and that he was best friends with a Weasley – one of the most prominently Light pureblooded families, even though certain others looked down on them for their lack of wealth. For one of them to associate with someone he had formerly ranked only slightly lower on the scale of Darkness than Voldemort and his Death Eaters …

 _Was_ Harry truly Dark? The relationships could be explained away, if not very satisfactorily, and the factual _evidence_ all seemed to point in that direction. But … wait. 'Were' his best friends? Had they thrown him over when they discovered the truth about him? Or … _:What happened to them? Did they die?:_

Dryly, _:No. I did.:_

And what did one say to that?

* * *

_:Has the Chamber of Secrets remained quiet?:_

Sirius jerked, nearly choking on his food, far more surprised than Harry thought was warranted, given that they had been sharing head-space for hours now.

"You all right?" James asked, pounding him (unnecessarily hard, of course) on the back.

Sirius coughed a last couple of times, experimentally, before weakly reassuring his friend. "Yeah, 'mfine."

 _:Sorry about that.:_ Harry apologized, feeling guilty. _:I didn't expect you to react quite so … violently.:_

 _:… You surprised me.:_ With one last cough, Sirius returned to the task at hand: namely, eating. _:You were quiet enough that I had almost forgotten you were there.:_

 _:I'm not sure whether I should take that as a compliment or an insult …:_ Harry's tone was dry. _:I suppose I'll let it pass … this time.:_

Sirius tossed an image – himself wiping his forehead and collapsing against a wall with the sheer force of his relief – in Harry's direction. Harry caught the image easily, taking it in the spirit it had been meant. _:Glad to know you have proper … 'respect' for me.:_ He replied, deadpan.

When Harry had first realized he was trapped in _Sirius'_ head, he had worried that it would be like trying to coexist with James … or possibly worse. Yet … after the first exchange of hostilities, it felt like he was slipping back into a comfortable relationship with an old friend, though Sirius' quirky sense of humor was a delightful surprise he had not previously seen in either his post-Azkaban godfather or his earlier interactions with the Sirius of this time and place.

Sirius, on the other hand, was struck yet again by the oddness of his reaction to this being that every rational part of him was crying out for him to draw his wand on (though that would be rather hard, considering that Harry was currently residing in his head …); surprised and, to be frank, rather disturbed as he realized just how much he enjoyed their exchanges.

After all, it just didn't seem right that a Death … no, he was almost certain that Harry was not a Death Eater; though the boy knew entirely too much about the Dark Lord, his hatred for said wizard seemed unfeigned. Still, that a Dark wizard like Harry (for on that point, after careful consideration and much thinking in circles, he would _not_ be budged) could be such pleasant company …

It was a sad statement of affairs that he would almost have been relieved had Harry suggested sneaking out for a spot of Muggle-torture, if only because then he would be acting in line with Sirius' expectations. Except one of his best friends was Muggle-born …

 _:The Chamber?:_ The object of his musings prompted, after what he evidently judged was a significant length of silence. _:I may keep allowing myself to be distracted, but I_ would _like to know eventually.:_

Sirius shrugged. _:I haven't heard anything, and I'm pretty sure James hasn't either. And as Head Boy, he's in on nearly everything, so I'm assuming it has stayed closed.:_

 _:Believe me,:_ Harry said solemnly, softly, as intensely as he had ever heard the spirit speak, _:if it was open, you would know.:_ Sirius caught a flash of something, nearly too quickly gone to catch anything. A stone wall, much like the ones bordering every hall here at Hogwarts, splattered with blood (or something similar … yet he had a sinking feeling that it was not any comforting substitute), flickering eerily near-black in low torchlight. _:Be glad it didn't get that far, this time …:_

_:What do you mean, 'this time'? Harry!:_

Silence.

* * *

"Do mine eyes deceive me? Sirius Black? In the Library?"

Sirius rolled his eyes and grunted. "Nice to see you too, Moony." He muttered sourly. "Feel like helping? Or would you rather just sit around and ridicule me?"

As he took a seat, Remus frowned contemplatively at the stack of books surrounding his black-haired friend. "What exactly _are_ you researching, Padfoot?"

"Chamber of Secrets." He raked his fingers through his hair. "There's _nothing_ useful!"

Remus blinked. "We only have Dumbledore's reaction to the topic to prove that the Chamber of Secrets is more than just a myth." He pointed out. "That's the tack all the books _I've_ ever seen have taken, so of _course_ there's nothing useful. Why? This isn't a History paper from the last full moon that you 'forgot' to tell me about, is it?"

Sirius shook his head. "Harry was saying something about being glad that the Chamber wasn't fully opened 'this time'. So I wanted to know about _last_ time."

"Considering that this is _Harry_ we're talking about, I'm betting he was in the thick of everything … which means that 'last time' was probably about twenty years from now." His eyes widened. "Wait a second. _Harry_ was _saying_?" And narrowed. "Is there something you would like to tell me, Si-ri-us?" He carefully enunciated each syllable in a tone that approached singsong.

 _:Scary!:_ Sirius whimpered.

Though part of him was laughing at the completely cowed picture Sirius was presenting, most of Harry agreed fervently. _:Quite.:_ He said weakly. There was just something about the way Remus' amber eyes nearly _glowed_ that made him very conscious of that part of Remus that was a wolf. A rather irritated one, in fact. Even though he _knew_ that Remus would never willingly hurt any of his friends, the sight was, as Sirius had put it so concisely, _scary_.

"Hm?" Remus was now tapping his foot. Make that a rather irritated, _impatient_ wolf.

"… HeonlyjustappearedearliertodayandIhaven'tseenyousincelunch" Deep breath. "SoyouseeIreally _couldn't_ havetbeen _really_ keepingsecretsfromyou."

Remus smiled, and just as suddenly all hints of danger dissipated. "So, how is he holding up? Did he say what he's been up to for this last month or so?"

"He claimed he was only gone a few minutes. From what he's said, he returned to his time and was talking with the Headmaster and his godfather when he … came back. And landed in my head somehow."

Remus leaned forward slightly. "Harry has a godfather? Huh. Anyone we know?"

"Yeah. Me."

" _You?_ " Okay, so Sirius knew he wasn't the brightest choice for godfather ever. That was still no excuse for Remus to sound quite _that_ … well … shocked. "Good god, Harry, I'm surprised you turned out as well adjusted as you did."

Harry made some sort of sound of amusement; somewhere between a snicker and a giggle. Sirius folded his arms, reluctantly amused himself. It _was_ , after all, a good crack, and if he had learned nothing else from Hogwarts, it was how to laugh at himself. "Oh, that's easy enough to explain. I was too busy playing Dementor bait and becoming uglier than Snape to have anything to do with Harry."

"Oh yeah." Remus bit his lip. "Sorry, Padfoot."

He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I'm not going to let it happen to _me_ , after all, even if it did happen to the other me."

"Still … oh, and how are _you_ holding up? I assume Harry is doing well enough, or he'd probably be making you a lot more miserable than you look."

Sirius sighed a huge puff of air, setting his chin on his hands. A moment later, minus the sigh, Remus followed his example, once again putting them more-or-less on eye level. "Confused." He finally admitted. "And it doesn't help that Harry is a _lot_ more polite and … well … bearable than James made him sound. The worst that has happened to me so far is almost choking during dinner … and I know that was an accident."

Remus remained pointedly silent; after nearly six and a half years living in the same dorm room and being part of as tight-knit a group as the Marauders, Sirius knew quite well that that was just his polite way of saying 'I told you so'. James' complaints, after all, had been one of the main things driving the 'pro-Harry' Marauders (Remus and Peter) away even after Harry was exorcised, as neither could bear to listen to him for long before they either jumped in on Harry's behalf (ending in a nice, loud fight) or stalked off in anger.

Sirius just sighed again, silently this time. _I may like him more than James does, but I'm even more convinced that he's at least partly Dark … and I don't know that I'll ever have your faith in him._

Whatever Harry had done to or for Remus, it had earned him an unswerving friend for life. Sirius could only hope that it wouldn't end up hurting his friend … Remus had been hurt entirely too many times in his life already.

* * *

"C'mon Wormtail! Sirius has something to tell us." Remus pulled his quietly protesting friend along, completely ignoring the strange looks being shot his way.

"A little too much tea this morning, Moony?" Peter quizzed. "I haven't seen you this bouncy since … well, in quite some time." And as they skidded up to Sirius, he frowned thoughtfully. "And since when has Sirius told you _anything_ before James? … Well, except for those times that he was in danger of failing and desperately pleading for your help in passing."

"You'll see." Remus was bouncing on his toes. Just a little, but noticeably … and that was something he _never_ did unless he was excited. "Oh! Snape! I bet he'd … hmm. Not here in the common room, though. Oh well, one of us will have to tell him later."

"Tell who what later?" As usual, when James entered the room, all eyes turned to him.

Immediately, Sirius started looking even more uncomfortable, taking a distinct interest in his feet. "Well … you see … I found out this morning that Harry is back." A deep breath. "In _my_ head, this time."

"Really?" _Now_ Peter knew what had Remus so perky. "Tell Harry I say hi. How's he been?"

Sirius went briefly unfocused. "Harry says to tell everyone hi. He's been quite well, thank you, other than his consistent complaint."

"Oh yeah." Peter looked briefly embarrassed. "I guess it _is_ kinda silly to ask a dead person how he's feeling."

Another blank look. "He laughed, agreed, but pointed out that, in this case, it's reasonable."

James shook his head, his mouth a firm, angry line, turned on his heel, and abruptly left. Sirius' head turned to follow the movement. "James –?"

Peter put out a restraining hand. "Let him go for now. This is James … he'll be back eventually, though I wouldn't be surprised if he keeps his distance until Harry disappears again." His tone of voice changed. "Sorry, Harry, but …"

 _:It's probably the truth.:_ Harry admitted. _:For what it's worth, I'm sorry, too, Sirius. I didn't mean…:_

 _:For James to act like an utter git?:_ Sirius asked sourly. _:It's not your fault that … well, it_ is _partly your fault, and partly his, that he doesn't like you – and is now free to act on that dislike. But it's not your fault that this is how he is reacting.:_

_:But if I wasn't here …:_

_:Prongs and I would be happier,:_ Sirius acknowledged, _:but I'd bet you anything that Wormtail and Moony wouldn't. They missed you.:_

He could almost physically feel Harry's wince. _:They shouldn't. That'll only make the final parting that much harder … because I_ am _going to go away and not come back someday. Especially if – no offense – I keep getting stuck in James' or your head.:_

 _:None taken.:_ Sirius reluctantly smirked. _:I get the feeling that you and I are getting along better than you and James did … but we're still neither of us terribly enthused with the prospect of being stuck together.:_

_:I couldn't have put it better myself.:_

* * *

Carefully keeping even his _thoughts_ quiet and his movements as close a simulation to 'natural' as he could, Sirius turned over in his bed, looking towards James'. Still empty. Again, as he had at mostly random moments all evening, ever since James turned and walked away, he felt a cold, hollow feeling in his stomach, paired with a burning determination. He _would_ not let Harry ruin his friendship with James, inadvertently or otherwise, the way he had nearly destroyed the Marauders.

 _:Harry?:_ He sent the whisper threading through his mind, and smiled in triumph when all that returned to him was an incoherent mumble and what might have been the beginnings of a soft snore. _Perfect._ He had been afraid the fourth-year would literally stay up all night, either worrying at the question of the evening – why had _they_ not switched bodies as the sun fell, the way Harry and James had? – or just flat from insomnia.

He rolled out of bed, years of escapades allowing him to make a nearly completely soundless landing, stood, and tiptoed out of the room.

As he had expected, James was sitting in the common room in front of the fire, staring into it with a moody expression. When James had not shown in their dorm room at first, Sirius had been worried that James had finally found a reason worthy of breaking his boycott of the Head Boy's room – slept in only that first evening of their seventh year, then promptly abandoned to return to the room the four of them had shared for the six years previous.

Yet, if that had been the case, his trunk and the other little trinkets that, scattered around, made that corner of the room undeniably _his_ , would have disappeared long before the other three headed to bed. No, James just wanted to make absolutely certain that he would not have to talk to Harry (and, as a consequence, Sirius as well) by staying out of the room until even the spirit – obviously as much a night owl as any of the Marauders – had fallen asleep. Well, tough.

"Heya Prongs." He greeted quietly, swinging down into the chair beside James, who stiffened and half-stood. "No, don't. It's just me."

"He left?" James sat back down, straighter than before, eyes bright with a sparkle that had been absent ever since the announcement.

"No, not so far as I can tell. But I made absolutely sure he was asleep before coming down here."

"Oh." James slumped back into his former position. "What do you want, Sirius?"

"I want to know if you're going to destroy our friendship – which is where we're headed right now, don't you _dare_ deny it! – simply because I'm not alone in my head right now."

"I …" Disturbed was the only good word for James' expression. "If that's the way you interpreted it, I'm sorry. I don't want to lose you, Sirius … not after Harry has already cost me Remus and Peter. I … just can't be around him."

"Why? I know you don't like him, I don't much either" _except when I do …_ "but you don't like Snape, either, and you can stay in the same room as him for at _least_ a couple of hours. If you absolutely have to."

"It's not that. It …" Unconsciously, he started rubbing his right upper arm with his left hand, as if suddenly chilled. "He creeps me out, Siri. I'm not entirely sure why … there have been times – once – when he seemed very … _vulnerable_ , when I couldn't _not_ care and try to protect him. But then he turns around the next second and it's like a completely blank wall. Nothing. _No one's_ that unreadable, and certainly not when it's their very thoughts and emotions that they're controlling, not just how they affect their facial expressions and body language."

"You can't bear him because you can't read him?"

"No!" He protested. "Well … that's part of it. But I could almost deal with it in a Slytherin, say, someone I _expect_ to be different … someone I don't have to live with, day in and day out. But he was supposed to be Gryffindor, right? Gryffindors aren't _like_ that."

He leapt to his feet; started pacing. "And every time he tells you something, you get the feeling that there are about ten other things he could have said, but chose not to. He has too many secrets. And he _knows_ too many secrets: Remus' condition, our private names for each other …"

"Our – or at least my – alternate forms." Sirius interjected quietly. "I take that back – Wormtail's, too. Remember when he was talking about the future? He said Peter spent a number of years as a pet _rat_."

"… the entrance to the you-know-where … the Chamber of Secrets, for crying out loud! How _can_ he know so much?"

"It is possible that one of us told him." Sirius pointed out after a short silence. "Well, not about the Chamber of Secrets; even _we_ haven't managed to find that yet." They shared a chagrined smile. "But about everyone else. After all, according to him, I _am_ supposedly his godfather."

" _You_? A godfather?" The sparkle was back at last. "I take back everything I said. No _wonder_ he's screwed up!"

Sirius breathed a quick sigh of relief, indescribably happy that their relationship seemed to once again be getting back to … well, as close to normal as it could be, what with a suspected Dark wizard currently snoring away in the back of his head. Still, no matter how relieved or happy he was, he couldn't let a comment like that stand.

"Oh, and I suppose _you_ could do better?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7 June 2003  
> 18 September 2011  
> 5 September 2012  
> 5 April 2019


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me @ myself, re: the first point: Same. XD 
> 
> ==
> 
> *yawns* I ought to be in bed now …
> 
> Gee, there's something about me and chapters that insist on being twice as long as they ought to be, isn't there? And this is even considering the fact that I neglected to write the last scene I was originally planning on putting in this chapter in an effort to avoid being lynched due to the horrid cliffhanger that would probably have resulted …  
> I suppose now I ought to go into the longwinded hiatus/discontinuation-due-to-appearance-of-the-real-fifth-year speech now, shouldn't I?
> 
> *pauses thoughtfully*
> 
> Ah, screw it. If you've gotten this far without realizing that this story is majorly AU even where the end of the fourth book is concerned, you almost deserve to believe I'm going to stop writing this story simply because J.K. Rowling finally got off her butt and published the fifth book.
> 
> Just about the only thing I can see really happening is that a certain few details will be incorporated that were revealed in the fifth book – things like the fact that we now know that James' eyes are hazel – that I would not otherwise have known or included. I'm certainly not going to stop writing entirely – I love this story too much to do that either to myself or to all you people out there reading it.
> 
> Harry Potter does not belong to me, although for what it's worth five-sevenths (or is that three-quarters?) of the Gryffindor Quidditch team is my own invention. If anyone cares …
> 
> And to all you fellow Americans out there, happy Independence Day. To anyone who's not American … *thinks a moment* *shrugs* Ah, happy Fourth of July anyway. ^^
> 
> (11/26/2012: more random minor edits)

"Rise and shine, everyone! The first Quidditch match of the season and, if I do say so myself, it's a _beautiful_ day!"

Sirius growled and tried to burrow further under his covers. _Remind me again why I wanted James back to normal?_

 _:Quidditch. I_ completely _forgot about Quidditch …:_ Came a moan from the back of his head. _:I'm going to see if I can knock myself unconscious … wake me up when the match is over.:_

 _:Why?:_ Sirius asked, surprised. Didn't everyone love Quidditch? Unless … he tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. _:You're not afraid of heights, are you?:_

 _:_ Hell _no.:_ Came the equally surprised answer. _:But … well, what position do you play?:_

_:Prongs and I are two of the Chasers. Have been ever since second year; though now he's Captain, too …:_

The sense of a nod. _:That's what I thought. Look, I have nothing against Quidditch … far from it! But I really don't think you'd want another Chaser backseat-driving – you do know what that means, right? – much less a_ Seeker _. I'd drive you nuts and completely distract you from your job with my constant attempts to find the Snitch.:_

Sirius made a face. No, he didn't know exactly what backseat-driving meant, as practically his only exposure to Muggle culture (and he _assumed_ that was a Muggle saying) was Lily … but the rest of Harry's explanation gave him a pretty good idea. _:Good point._ Very _good point. Anything I can do to help?:_

Sardonically, _:Got a brick?:_

* * *

"People … we have a problem."

Sirius, reveling in the feel of being in full Quidditch gear again, for the first time in _far_ too long, abruptly took notice. James was the best captain either of them had worked with, and when he said there was a problem, it wasn't a simple matter of a little rain outside or someone's missing spare glove. It was a Problem.

He looked around. Terrence Brown, a sixth-year and their third Chaser, smiled nervously when he caught Sirius looking his way. Despite his age, this was only Terry's first year on the team, and he had not once seen any action from his place in the reserves the previous two years.

"Um … shouldn't we wait until Abby gets here, sir?" The newer of their pair of Beaters, this was also fourth-year Robert Kingston's first year on the main team.

"I'm afraid not. You see, Abby is our problem." Abilene Grey was a third-year, Bob's girlfriend, and, most importantly, their Seeker. And, as Bob had pointed out and Sirius hadn't noticed until then, she was indeed not there. "According to Madam Pomfrey, she has contracted a relatively severe case of the flu. She should be up and around in a couple of weeks – certainly in time enough for our next match – but at this point, she really _can't_ do anything much more strenuous than get her rest and drink lots of fluids."

Bob looked stricken by the news; if this was the first he had heard of his girlfriend's illness, Sirius didn't blame him. The rest just looked grave; they all knew that, of the positions, Seeker was the only one they did _not_ have any reserve players for. No one had even tried out this year, in fact.

His hand twitched, and Sirius looked down at it quizzically. _:So I_ can _do it!:_ He heard Harry crow. _:Unfortunately, I can't do much more without your specific permission. I was_ wondering _, when we didn't switch involuntarily last night …:_

 _:You mean you can:_ Sirius gulped _:take over my body?:_ That gave him an idea. Not a very palatable one, true … He took a deep breath. What was more important to him? The thought that he would no longer have any control whatsoever over his body, that he would be quite possibly giving his body over to a potential Dark wizard … albeit one who had never, as far as he could tell, done serious harm to anyone? Well, except Voldemort, and Sirius was willing to let that one slide.

Or his and James' promise to each other that they would win the Quidditch cup for Gryffindor every year they were on the team, a goal they were only this last year from fulfilling … yet would not be able to, without winning this first, all-important game against Ravenclaw?

 _:You would have to trust me, I think … and_ mean _it.:_

Which was more important to him?

* * *

"And the Gryffindor Quidditch team!" Harry was surprised to realize that he recognized the announcer's voice: Erica, Lily's friend and presumably Terry's older sister. "Potter, Black, Brown, Knight, Harrell, Johanneson, aaaannndd . . . Wait!" There was a sound of shuffled papers. "Excuse me folks, we have a last minute personnel change, due to unforeseen circumstances."

This time, the team _did_ ready themselves to fly out. "So, how about we try this again? I present the Gryffindor Quidditch Team: Potter, Brown, Gibb, Knight, Harrell, Johanneson, aaaannndd … Black!"

Harry was having trouble adjusting. The broom, though supposedly top-of-the-line, left him yearning desperately for the sleek speed and maneuverability of his Firebolt; to exacerbate the problem, Sirius' body was far taller and heavier – even for his equivalent height – than he was used to. Still, once on the field, habit kicked in and he soared to near the center of the field, twenty or thirty feet above even the tallest hoop. _:It's_ good _to be back.:_

 _:Now_ I'm _the one who has to sit on his hands and try not to interfere.:_ Sirius grumbled. _:Figures.:_

Freed of the need to act normal because there was no one else nearby, Harry allowed himself to laugh out loud. _:Sorry … just remember,_ you _insisted.:_

His eyes were fixed on the ground below, where a much younger Madam Hooch (though still with entirely silver hair) stood over the box containing the balls, whistle already in her mouth. _:Yeah, well you probably still wouldn't be, if you hadn't fed James that story about being the youngest Seeker in the century.:_ He took on a singsong tone. _:'The only time I've been on the field and_ not _caught the Snitch, it was because they let the Dementors out … and that was_ before _I learned the Patronus Charm'.:_

Harry shrugged, doing a couple of broad loops to relax himself. _:Just because you don't believe me, doesn't mean it isn't true. Though between you and me, I'm still not certain my first catch should have counted, considering the fact that I nearly_ swallowed _it.:_ Between the loops and his conversation with Sirius, he almost missed Hooch's whistle. _:All right! Let's go!:_ With a whoop, he dove into the fray.

* * *

"I'm going to kill Potter … and Black … and myself." When Albus Dumbledore heard those sentiments repeated, his curiosity was pricked enough that he turned to see who had uttered them, just in time to see Minerva McGonagall, head in hands, preparing to go into a third moaned repetition.

"What have the infamous duo done now?" He asked lightly, eyes twinkling with amusement. "I certainly can't think of anything worthy of suicide. Homicide, perhaps …"

That elicited a short bark of laughter. "Those four – and those two in particular – rarely do anything that _isn't_ worthy of homicide. I never thought I'd say this about any of my students, but … thank _Merlin_ they're graduating this year."

"Ah, but then they can turn their attention to … other matters." Only his concern for appearances kept him from grinning broadly. "I would not be surprised if, in another ten to fifteen years, you'll have to deal with another Potter at _least_."

"Oh Merlin …" She moaned, burying her face in her hands once again. "I don't suppose I could foist him – or her – off on Slytherin?"

Dumbledore's lips twitched. "Really, Minerva. A Potter in Slytherin? The only thing I can think of that would be less likely is a Pettigrew."

"I'm going to die." She raised her head, eyes glinting. "Or I could just kill Potter and Black now and remove the problem before it even starts!"

He tried to keep his face straight, and was _pretty_ sure he managed it. "Ah, yes, and now we are back to where we began. What have those two done now?"

A strangled sound in the back of her throat. "Didn't you notice? They made _Black_ the substitute _Seeker_! Black couldn't catch the Snitch – he couldn't even _find_ it! – if his life depended on it! I'll never be able to look Jeff Vector in the eyes again! I'll be the laughingstock of the entire faculty!"

He patted her shoulder soothingly. "Now, Minerva, I'm sure it's not that bad." _Some people get entirely_ too _into Quidditch …_ "Look – sure, he hasn't caught the Snitch yet, but Mr. Black certainly seems to be doing a fair job otherwise."

* * *

_:We'regonnadiewe'regonnadiewe'regonnadie!:_

Harry pulled out of his dive at _least_ twenty feet from the ground, swerving to avoid a Bludger and looping right in front of the Ravenclaw Chaser that currently had the Quaffle, startling her into dropping it. _:Oh, don't be a wuss. I know what I'm doing.:_

Well, perhaps that was overstating things slightly. He _did_ know how to Seek, but this was his first time running interference the way he had been; it was his first time back on a broom in ages and he just had too much energy to be content drifting around above the main action the way he usually did.

He dodged another Bludger, a Beater, and ducked as someone passed the Quaffle right over his head, suppressing Sirius' instinctual attempt to reach out and catch it, then dropped into another angled dive as he caught a glint of gold out of the corner of his eye. Of course, as soon as he turned his full attention toward it, it was gone. A girly shriek from Sirius prompted him to pull up, this time far closer to the ground – he still had the occasional trouble compensating.

 _:Are you trying to_ kill _me?:_

Harry rolled his eyes. _:Tch. I've made dives like that hundreds of times. Trust me. Besides, I would have pulled out a_ lot _sooner if this broom wasn't an ancient piece of crap.:_

 _:Hey! That's a brand new state-of-the-art Shooting Star you're insulting! It's one of the most maneuverable, sleekest brooms out there!:_  
  
_:From the future, remember? In twentyish years, the_ school _brooms will be Shooting Stars. Believe me – it is definitely an ancient piece of crap.:_ He swore as, once again, he caught a glint of gold, only to have it disappear. _:Now shut up and go away, please. You're distracting me.:_

 _:Yes sir.:_ Sirius grumbled. _:Just catch the snitch already, willya? 'Youngest Seeker in a century', my foot …:_

Now _that_ was unnecessary. It was, after all, one of the few titles foisted on Harry that he was genuinely proud of – one of the few he actually felt he'd earned. _:You ain't seen_ nothing _yet.:_

* * *

Professor McGonagall stared, enraptured, at the sky. "Albus?" She asked absently, "Are there any _other_ Blacks at this school?"

The Headmaster shook his head. "The only other one I can think of within recent times is Orion Black, and he graduated three years ago."

"Ah. Well, whoever that kid up there pretending to be Sirius Black is, I want him. I don't care if he's a _first_ year … he's better than Grey!"

Dumbledore dug into one of his pockets – far larger than they look, of course – and emerged at last with an antique-looking pair of Muggle binoculars. "Hm. I was hoping for my Omniculars … but I suppose these will do just as well." He trained them on the match going on above and, with a bit of luck, finally caught a long enough glance at the Gryffindor Seeker to positively identify him. "This is no pretender, Minerva. The Gryffindor Seeker is indeed Sirius Black."

"No, Albus, it is not." She glared at him. "Tell me, how long have I been Head of Gryffindor? How long has Black been a Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team? How many Quidditch team practices and games do you think I've attended?"

All were obviously rhetorical questions, so Dumbledore merely waited patiently as she took a deep breath, visibly calming herself, and continued. "Trust me, Albus. I may not be the flight instructor or a former member of a national Quidditch team, but if you were to ask Amarea Hooch you'd get the exact same answer. Those are definitely Seeker moves, though executed with a flair I have not previously seen in any but some of the better national Seekers.

"Not that this kid is anywhere near national level yet. In fact, there are moments when he seems barely able to control his broom, over- or undercompensating and the like, and other times when he's just … off. But the _flair_ is there. And I know Sirius Black. He is a Chaser to the bone, though he could probably make a decent Beater or Keeper if he had to. And he flies like one. There is _no way_ in a hundred years that Black could _ever_ fly like that."

"Peace! I believe you." Dumbledore protested. "However …" He paused suddenly. "If it were Potter, I have a suspicion …" He stood suddenly. "I do believe I will go down to the grounds now. I would like to congratulate the winning team … personally."

* * *

Harry lost all interest, now, in harassing opposing Chasers and dodging Bludgers. Cranking as much speed into the old Shooting Star as he could, he quickly quartered the field, eyes in that peculiar, slightly out-of-focus 'look-everywhere-at-once' mode he found most helpful in catching any hint of the Snitch.

Meanwhile, the Ravenclaw Seeker still drifted high above the crowd, ignoring, as he had the entire time, his rival's antics. After so many close matches with Cho and Cedric (he pushed _that_ thought away for another time, where he could feel free to fall apart as much as he ever did … again) and Malfoy's habit of tailing him, having a rival Seeker that completely ignored him was … disconcerting. Nice, something he had no scruples about taking advantage of, but disconcerting.

 _:He knows I couldn't catch the Snitch if my life depended on it.:_ Sirius contributed. _:Though, of course, we don't have any evidence that you're any different yet.:_

Harry reigned in his temper; it was now exceedingly obvious that he was just being baited. _:Oh, forgive me if I was actually allowing myself to_ enjoy _myself for a while. It_ is _the first time I've been on a broom since … last November or so. Forgive me for not being eager to end the experience.:_ He caught a glint of gold and arrowed after it. _:… and my life has never depended on catching the Snitch. I_ do _seem to have a peculiar sort of luck that allows me to catch it during other sorts of life-threatening situations, though. Except the Dementor incident.:_

Sirius scoffed. _:How else could a match become life-threatening? – assuming you're not talking about bad Quidditch injuries.:_

_:… there was the professor that was casting a Dark curse on my broom … the Bludger that a house elf enchanted to follow me in an effort to 'save' my life by driving me away from Hogwarts … oh, never mind.:_

_This_ time, the Snitch did not disappear on him again. He got closer and closer, catching up to it as he (somewhat laboriously) duplicated every swerve and dive the tiny golden ball attempted; ducking under a Bludger at one point and catching, out of the corner of his eye, movement as the Ravenclaw Seeker also saw the Snitch at last.

Then he was reaching out, and the elation was there as it had been at every match, the powerful, happy feeling that was the source of his Patronus and the true reason he loved Quidditch so … that rare flash of genuine, deserving pride in himself.

A thought, the tightening of a few muscles in his hand, and the Snitch was captured. For the first time since his death feeling deeply, truly _alive_ , he held the Snitch high in the air and rode the wave of Gryffindor cheers.

* * *

"You did it, kid!" As Dumbledore approached the now downed Gryffindor Quidditch team, he witnessed the familiar sight of Sirius Black and James Potter jumping up and down, alternately hugging each other and patting each other – _hard_ – on the back, whooping ecstatically. Even though this would be their sixth year on the team, and since joining, neither had missed nor lost a game, as far as after-game celebration was concerned, every victory seemed like their first.

"I told you I could!" Sirius yelled back to James over the cheers of the rest of the crowd. "What, did you doubt me too?"

And as suddenly as that, for no reason that Dumbledore could see (though one he could very easily guess), they abruptly stopped jumping, turning away and putting a little more space between them. "Well, you have to admit that 'youngest Seeker in a century' is a bit hard to swallow." James replied stiffly.

Sirius' eyes narrowed, his arms crossed, and he took a decidedly defensive stance. When he replied, he sounded nettled. "Fine. 'Youngest Seeker in eighty years' is probably more appropriate, now, but excuse me for not counting the years exactly." A glare. "I would not lie about Quidditch."

James glared back. "Oh, and how am I supposed to know that, when you never tell us _anything_ about yourself?"

"Refusing to speak is entirely different from lying." Sirius – no, Harry; he knew that beyond a doubt, now – snarled. "Name me _one_ time I've ever lied to you." A brief silence. "Huh. I thought so."

Harry turned, finally catching sight of Dumbledore. His eyes – impossibly, undeniably the same brilliant green as before, though set in Sirius' face – widened, all his anger at James washed away in the shock that froze him where he stood.

Dumbledore smiled, loosening his hold on a small portion of his power, knowing it would give his smile something of a dangerous edge. "Here is one promise you've broken; one way in which you've lied."

Shock disappeared into a flash of cold anger into a carefully blank face. "Headmaster, I'm afraid I have no idea what you are talking about."

Dumbledore nodded slightly in his direction. "The fact that you are here speaking with me is evidence that you broke your promise not to return."

The anger returned. "I never promised any such thing." Harry spat. "I told you that I did not intend to return, and I didn't. I told you that I didn't _think_ I would return, and I _didn't_. _All_ I 'promised' is that I did not _plan_ to return, because I didn't – and _still_ don't – know enough about the curse I cast to be comfortable promising anything more." A rising aura of power made his eyes seem to literally crackle, as if they only barely contained a ravenous green fire. " _I did not break my word_."

Emerald flame clashed with aquamarine ice. "And would you still say the same under the influence of a truth potion, I wonder?"

"No." Flatly. "Because I would no longer be willing to take that potion from _you_. I don't trust you to respect my privacy."

 _So it has come to this._ "I don't believe I gave you a choice." Still smiling, still outwardly genial, he inconspicuously raised his wand. " _Petrificus Totalus_."

And watched as the body that belonged to Sirius Black silently toppled over; as the aura of power projected by Harry's anger snuffed out completely and green eyes faded to blue-grey.

* * *

Lily Evans enjoyed the concept of flight itself far more than she liked Quidditch. This explains partly why, in fourth year, when James had tried to convince her to try out for Seeker (the position that she was most definitely most partial to, and had always flattered herself by thinking she would not be half bad at, given sufficient practice), she had turned him down flat. Quidditch was something that she would far rather watch than play.

Well, that and the fact that at that point he was not yet her boyfriend; she had actually thought him to be pretty far up on the conceited jerk scale, and she took great pleasure at that time in proving to him that _some_ people did not meekly fall over and worship the ground he walked on.

Still, watching people fly – especially those who could fly well, which Quidditch players almost inevitably could – was almost as fun as flying herself; watching James play doubly so, as not only was he a quite good flier, it gave her a perfect excuse to stare blankly at her boyfriend without being teased by her friends for it.

Not to mention that, after winning – which the Gryffindor team invariably did – James was always so hyped up that their celebratory victory kiss went above and beyond their usual efforts. Enough to make her grin, just in anticipation and memory – though if you were to ask any of her friends (thank goodness Erica was commentating, not sitting with her, or she'd _never_ hear the end of it), they'd probably try to apply the label 'silly, infatuated, foolish-looking' to the aforementioned grin. Honestly, just because she was the only one in her dorm who actually had a _steady_ boyfriend …

Then again, they might actually have something going there, she reluctantly admitted as she descended the stands towards the pitch – and her boyfriend, now that the game was over – below, as she caught herself humming a distinctly silly tune. And stopped.

About halfway down she crossed paths with Peter, strangely alone. It was the first time in quite a while that she could recall Remus missing a game; although neither he nor Peter played, they were both at almost every Gryffindor game, a tradition that she hadn't thought had changed even with the growing distance between the two pairs of Marauders since Harry had entered their life a month or so before. Peter because he, like Lily, genuinely enjoyed watching the Quidditch games in action; Remus more because he felt like he ought to, though that didn't stop him from bringing along a book of his choice in order to not be solely dependent on Quidditch for his amusement for the minutes or sometimes hours that the games lasted.

As she descended the last couple of steps, she was surprised (and, truth be told, a bit annoyed) to find that she was not the first down to congratulate the winning team (and a certain Chaser in particular) – Dumbledore, of all people, had beaten her in that regard.

Except whatever he was offering, it did not seem to be terribly congratulatory. Perhaps alerted by his presence, Sirius and James' little "happy dance" was considerably shorter than usual and, though James relaxed in Dumbledore's presence, Sirius seemed to be having an _argument_ with the Headmaster. She wandered closer, just in time to distract him, briefly, from the topic at hand.

And as Dumbledore's spell struck her fellow seventh-year down, she found herself battered by a nearly physical force of similar proportions as, for a moment, only, their eyes connected and she read desperation in Sirius' face.

In his face and in his green, green eyes, only a few shades darker than her own.

 _:Oof!:_ Mere moments after the shock that rocked her backwards, just as she had begun to believe that it had been nothing more than her imagination. _:Where am I now?:_

Lily felt her own eyes widen farther, she thought, than eyes really ought to be allowed to. "Harry?"

 _:No, you're just hearing voices in your head.:_ Came the somewhat cutting rejoinder. _:Of course Harry. Now who are y – Lily?:_ Shocked recoil.

"Get out of my head."

 _:I don't know_ how _…:_ He protested.

"Well, do whatever it is you did to leave Sirius."

 _:But I didn't do any – wait.:_ The shock/horror/amazement/who knows what else was ebbing; she could feel him drawing back in on himself as he regained his composure. She wondered why it had taken him so long – he had done this sort of thing at least twice before, after all; you'd think he was used to it by now. _:I saw you. Right before_ Dumbledore _:_ flash of anger/betrayal/contempt? _:shot me – that is, Sirius – with the Full Body-Bind, our eyes met, and next thing I knew, I was flying through…_ something _… and then I landed in your head.:_

"Okay, eye contact. I can do that." There was no _way_ she was going to let Harry stay in her head any longer than necessary. Not only was he a _boy_ –and while she had no basic philosophical disagreement with the male half of the race, the concept of having one inhabiting her _head_ was highly disturbing. Who _knew_ what sort of secrets he'd pick up and probably display to make her the laughingstock of the entire school; it was the sort of thing James would have done in their first six years of school. And she _still_ wouldn't trust Sirius anywhere near her mind.

Yes, not only was he a boy, but she was going home over the winter holidays, and the train was leaving tomorrow. She got _quite_ enough flack from her older sister for being a witch as it was; if Petunia ever found out that she was _really_ hearing voices in her head, she'd _never_ hear the end of it. Ever. Even if the voice was real and had a genuine, provable reason for being in her head; Petunia rarely bothered to concern herself with factual details when there were more _important_ things – such as needling Lily – to be done.

 _:Well, at least_ that _hasn't changed.:_ Harry commented, and she cursed under her breath. She had hoped that he hadn't noticed her thoughts … _now_ she thought she rather understood why James had hated having him in his head so much. _:Then again, this universe would have to be_ significantly _stranger before such a thing as Petunia D – Evans, I guess it probably is at this point – actually approving of magic had even a_ chance _of occurring.:_

Lily blinked, processing the content of Harry's mutterings. _:Wait … you know my_ sister _?:_ She had naturally assumed that Harry knew her and James and their friends – or _of_ them, at least, considering that she and James were evidently due to die in about four years' time – but it had never occurred to her that he might know _Petunia_ , of all people.

Then again … he had said he lived with his Muggle relatives at one point. _:Oh, you must live near each other, right?:_

 _:Right.:_ He answered; though she thought he was telling the truth, there was … something that assured her he was still hiding something. _:We see each other practically every day during the summer … unfortunately.:_

Well, at least there was _one_ thing they had in common …

* * *

If there was one thing Remus Lupin was proud of, it was his ability to reason. It was not mere coincidence, after all, that he had missed breaking the record for the last century by only one OWL, and bid fair to do the same on the NEWTs he would be taking later on in his seventh year.

It was lowering to admit that a certain greasy acquaintance of his _had_ broken that record … but he tried not to think about _that_ particular humiliating episode whenever possible. If only he weren't forced to miss on the order of three days of school most months – for the full moon had a penchant for placing itself over weekends _far_ less frequently than Remus would have liked – perhaps things would be different.

Whatever the truth to that belief, Remus had set his considerable ability an equally formidable task. When Harry disappeared, he had given up the younger boy for lost, content with missing him instead of puzzling over the many mysteries he had presented. Now that Harry was _back_ , however … he had decided to try and figure out the mystery that, he suspected, was somehow at the root of them all: Harry's surname.

What did he know about Harry? Black hair, green eyes, a petite build even for his age (though he'd never admit that to Harry's face; his height was evidently a sore point to the former fourth-year), and that odd scar on his forehead. Not that the scar provided any information about his possible parentage, but it was an additional mystery – what possible injury could carve a scar shaped like a lightning bolt into some child's forehead? And it was clearly a scar from some years back, given how thoroughly it had healed.

The only other thing he knew about Harry for certain was his parentage – wizard father, possibly of a relatively prominent family, and Muggleborn witch mother. Also that they were both dead and he was raised by his Muggle relatives, but with the information he had, that was of little to no concern to him – at least as far as figuring out the identity of Harry's parents was concerned.

So, despite feeling like there really ought to be a better way, Remus found himself dragging out the yearbooks of up to ten or fifteen years previous and tallying up all the males with black hair, or green eyes, or that in any other significant way resembled Harry. Well, those yearbooks plus one other.

Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort – or so Harry had claimed. He wasn't entirely sure why he bothered, but he brought to the table at which he had set up shop the yearbook from the 1944-45 school year – Tom Riddle's seventh year, if he had, as Harry had calculated for the old wand seller, bought his wand in 1938.

And there he was. Head Boy, former Prefect, top of his class – Remus found that it had been Riddle's record that Snape broke back in fifth year. Black hair combed back far more neatly than he had ever seen Harry's – _that_ particular birds' nest reminded him more of the way James used to wear his hair before he started noticing girls. Green eyes almost the same shade as Harry's – the first person he had come across whose eyes even approached that vivid hue.

No wonder Harry had made a point of assuring Dumbledore that he was of no relation to Riddle; the two could have been brothers – though not quite twins – with how similar they looked. Sadly, Tom Riddle was the closest match he had come across so far … he had been through about three years so far and found perhaps four black-haired guys, none of whom had eyes even approaching that green and one of whom he knew for a fact was gay. The search for men with eyes of that unique shade was going even worse, as the only one he had seen so far was Tom Riddle.

There were, on the other hand, several young men – black-haired and otherwise – who had eyes of varying other greenish shades; up to and including his friend James, whose hazel eyes became almost green in the right situations.

He paused in the act of tapping his quill against the parchment he had been using to organize his thoughts. James. It actually fit almost creepily well. He was a wizard, from a prominent family no less; his black hair was – or had been, when they were younger – an even closer fit to Harry's than that of the mysterious Tom Riddle; his hazel eyes _could_ be greenish occasionally – and, furthermore, Lily's eyes approached the same shade as Harry and Riddle, and come to think of it hadn't Harry said at one point that he had his mother's eyes?

Lily was Muggleborn, as was Harry's unnamed mother. It would even explain, at least in part, why Harry knew so many of the secrets kept by the Marauders and why he knew so much about what had happened to them in the years following and seemed to feel that their welfare was something personal to him.

' _James Potter'_ , he wrote, on the list where he had tallied possible fathers.

But … James and Lily died the night that Voldemort had been temporarily been vanquished; if Harry was actually their son, would he not have died as well? That they had been out, leaving little Harry with a babysitter, was one obvious solution … but that could not be the case if they had been under the protection of the Fidelius Charm; they would have been hidden somewhere, and little Harry would have been hidden along with them.

But even assuming that little Harry had somehow miraculously escaped dying along with his parents (at least according to this scenario), it was still almost impossible to believe that Harry could be James' son. Aside from their superficial appearance and their House affiliation, the two were _nothing_ alike. Although, come to think of it, Remus wasn't sure that he had ever _heard_ Harry state the latter as a fact. They had all just kind of … assumed that the spirit was as Gryffindor as any of them.

Still. Quiet to James' loudness; thoughtful to James' frequent thoughtlessness (the Shrieking Shack … incident … only the last and most serious in a long line of similar displays); his urge to avoid whenever possible the spotlight that James drew to himself as naturally as breathing … James and Harry were as different as night and day.

 _Harry Potter?_ Remus snorted, drawing a firm line through that last name and, in a sudden burst of frustration, crumpling the parchment and sending it hurtling through the air (with, of course, impeccable aim) towards the nearest trashcan.

_Harry Potter my foot._

* * *

From an entirely different corner, idly watching the young werewolf go about his quest while pursuing research of his own, Severus Snape found his curiosity as to what Lupin was doing growing. Oh, he could go over and ask, he supposed – Harry had changed things enough that the werewolf might even be induced to give him a straight answer.

But that wasn't a very Slytherin thing to do, now was it?

Harry …

His eyes clouded over briefly. Yes, Harry had certainly changed things, hadn't he? Snape had been in the library since early that morning, skipping breakfast as he often did and skipping, with equal lack of interest, the Quidditch match. He enjoyed flying himself, upon occasion, but had little to no interest in watching _other_ people fly around, especially when engaging in such an asinine sport as Quidditch.

Acrobatic flight, on the other hand, was far more interesting; not surprising, then, that it was by far his favorite event in the Summer Olympics.

So, in reward for refusing to watch fourteen people fly around and try their best to horribly injure each other for the sake of throwing balls through hoops, he had had the library almost entirely to himself for most of the morning. The first entrance of note had been that of the aforementioned werewolf, who walked purposefully towards a table, dropped his bag, and headed straight for the shelves containing the only complete collection of Hogwarts yearbooks in existence, from when the tradition began in 1798 up through the previous year – the '77-'78 yearbook had not yet been completed.

These were not necessarily yearbooks in the Muggle high school sense of the word; no student was involved in the process of making it except peripherally and they recorded major events that had happened that year as well as all the usual random dreck: pictures of every student, sorted by year; members to any clubs and teams; prefects and the Head Boy and Girl. Not having been written by students, however, they were actually quite dry reading, and seeing as they rarely contained any useful information, were one of the least checked out sets of books in the entire library – with the exception of certain parts of the Restricted Section.

So what did Lupin want with them, he had wondered. He ran his quill between left thumb and forefinger, a nervous habit that appeared when he was thinking hard and that he had never quite gotten around to breaking.

"That can't be too terribly good for the quill." A moderately amused voice observed from above, behind him and a little to the left.

 _How_ had Lupin managed to sneak up on him so well? He only just barely managed to suppress his instinctive flinch away from the sudden noise. "Oh, like chewing on it is any better? At least this way my mangled quills don't have slobber all over them, too." And vowed to finally get around to breaking that particular habit. If _Gryffindors_ were noticing …

Lupin's eyes crinkled slightly around the edges; he had actually found that comment amusing instead of offensive. _Honestly_ … it made Snape feel like he was losing his touch. "True. Speaking of Peter, has he been by to see you yet?"

Coolly raised eyebrow. "And just why would Pettigrew wish to see me?"

Sardonically. "I'll take that as a no." Snape waited. "I just wondered, because I figured that he was closer to being close to you, and so he might have told you already …" 'Closer to being close'? The Marauders actually telling him something? What in the world was going on? "Harry's back."

With what – if he was not hallucinating – seemed inordinately like a smirk, Lupin surveyed his totally floored countenance briefly (Snape made a point of closing his jaw with a snap) and ambled back to his table, stack of yearbooks still in hand.

The feel of something wet running across his hand had abruptly brought Snape back down to earth, to curse briefly at his quill, which he had inadvertently broken in half and which was now spilling black ink all over both his hand and the half-filled sheet of parchment beneath.

In his scramble to clean, the news was nearly forgotten, but not entirely. The accident did not annoy him nearly as much as it ought to have, for it seemed that nothing could put a dent in his suddenly good mood. His blood sang with elation, a rather unfamiliar emotion that it took him a minute to place. _Harry is back_.

All was right with the world again.

Shaking away the fog of memory, he turned his full attention back to the Gryffindor who had been the bearer of the news, and bit his lip lightly to suppress the triumphant smirk that threatened to appear as the brown-haired seventh-year shook his head, crumpled the parchment he had been scribbling on quite happily only minutes before, and sent it flying towards a nearby trashcan. With a quick spell (tsk. Too bad Madam Pince wasn't around; that tongue-lashing would have been quite worth watching), all the books he had been using flew back to their shelves and the werewolf stood and left.

As soon as he was out of sight, Snape abandoned all pretense of working on his research – it was just extra credit for Advanced Potions, anyway, and nothing he couldn't easily complete in the nearly six days he had left until it was due. _This_ was definitely more interesting. He got up and, deliberately casually, strolled over in the general direction of the trash can, bending as slightly as he could to retrieve the top ball of rejected material and secreting it up his sleeve.

Though as far as he could tell there was no one watching, he continued the charade, walking over to a nearby shelf – believably requiring a path from his table that passed the trash can – and perusing it for a few minutes before finally selecting a volume and strolling back to his table, where he shook the ball of parchment out of his sleeve and unrolled it at last.

His brow furrowed. It was nothing but a list of names, two or three of which had been crossed out. What he could not see, at first, was the reason for such a list, as from what he knew of the few names he recognized, they had nothing in common other than the fact that they had attended Hogwarts within the last fifteen years or so. And even then there was an exception; one of the most firmly crossed out names, Tom Riddle, had attended Hogwarts back in the early forties – there had been a goodly section devoted to him in _Seminal Prefects_ , a book he had received from his father and subsequently read upon attaining prefect status himself.

He had taken special note of that particular name; first because he, unlike most of the other prefects in that book, had been Slytherin, and second because the book had been exceedingly vague about just exactly what it was that Riddle had done to receive the Award for Special Services to the school – which was one of the more prestigious awards available – among other things. It was a mystery, and those always sparked his curiosity.

What else had the book said about Tom Riddle? Like moving through molasses, his mind finally offered another clue; something else that had sparked his curiosity about the enigmatic former prefect. Unlike many of the entries in the book, Tom Riddle's appearance had been relatively carefully described. Raven-black hair and flashing emerald eyes … he remembered thinking that it sounded like the description of the hero (or suave villain) out of a trashy romance novel, but now his first thought was that it was also a near-perfect description of Harry.

And that thought sparked others. He ran his finger down the list, and as each name checked off in his mind, his conviction grew. Yes, _every_ name on the list that he recognized had black hair, and many of them had hazel eyes – about as close as one got to that particularly brilliant shade of green unless one was Harry, Tom Riddle, or the Evans girl. So. _This_ was what the werewolf had been spending his time on – trying, unless Snape mistook his guess, to figure out what seemed to be the question of the day: Harry's elusive last name. And going about it in a manner worthy of a Ravenclaw, even.

Of course, he wasn't too terribly surprised. Lupin was perhaps the only one of the so-called 'Marauders' with the intelligence to do so; Potter and Black would take the Gryffindor tack, demanding that Harry _tell_ them, whereas Pettigrew would be more likely to follow his family's tradition and take the Hufflepuff way out, placidly waiting until Harry was 'ready' to tell him.

And perhaps Peter had the 'right' of it, but that was too passive a plan for Snape – or, it seemed, Lupin. The Gryffindor way, of course, was doomed to complete, utter, and humiliating failure; Snape had noticed in Harry a stubborn refusal to reveal his secrets – and an impressive ability to avoid doing so – that was only one of the reasons that he felt Harry would have made a good Slytherin. A true waste, that.

Still, for taking the Ravenclaw approach, Lupin certainly hadn't done a terribly good job at it. Snape could think of at least three reasons per person just why that particular person could _not_ be Harry's father. All except Tom Riddle – that one fit best of all; the only reason he could come up with was the fact that Harry had said that was not his last name.

Which, in that case, was certainly reason enough, though he still wondered why Harry had bothered? Well … Riddle had not had any children as yet that he recalled – or, if he had, they had not attended Hogwarts – so perhaps Harry had gone to school with one and they had always been getting mixed up, so he felt he needed to make the distinction up front?

And then there was the final name, for which at least a thousand reasons came to mind. Perhaps Harry and Potter looked vaguely similar. And just maybe he might have thought at one point that Harry's manner while charming Moaning Myrtle bore a certain similarity to Potter's. But otherwise. No.

In comparison to his usual efforts, Snape's current sneer was a sight to behold – and scurry away from before one was unfortunate enough to actually attract his attention. _If Harry's a Potter, I'm a pink elephant._ Pause. _Truly. That incident back in fourth year doesn't count._

With glee sharpened by righteous disgust, Snape balled the piece of paper back up and muttered a spell that burnt it with a fire so hot that it flared to ash before the table beneath had time even to scorch. _Harry Potter? I haven't heard anything that ridiculous since Evans finally put Potter out of his misery and agreed to date him. The only thing going for_ that _particular theory is the fact that the universe, I'm sure, would just_ love _to make it so that I_ still _owe my life to a Potter._

Shaking his head, his brief foray into sneaking over with for the nonce, Snape turned back to his project with a mental injunction to _really_ work on it this time. Yet, almost as soon as he got properly into it, he was once again interrupted – this time by the sudden awareness of a person standing beside the table, patiently waiting to be acknowledged.

Well, two could play at that game. Without even the slightest glance upwards to discern who, exactly, was standing over him, he began intentionally to ignore him or her. It would be interesting to see how long the other's patience would last.

A full five minutes passed, surprising him – he had been betting more along the lines of three – before the silence was broken. "All right, you win. The Headmaster wants you in his office."

His head – and eyebrows – shot up. _Pettigrew? I suppose that explains the patience._ "One moment while I pack up, and I'll be right with you."

The blond shook his head, thin braid swinging. "Don't bother. I'm not supposed to go back up there, just send you along." A hint of bitterness in his voice.

Despite himself, Snape could feel his eyebrows draw together into a thoughtful frown. _Now why would Dumbledore do that …?_ "I see." Even though he didn't.

Although he himself had pointed out that he need not stay, Peter still loitered as Snape finished packing his work back into his bag. "If … if this meeting is about …" _Harry_ was the logical end to that statement; so apparent it need not be said. "Oh, right … you do know that –"

"He's back?" Snape cut in. A short nod. "Lupin told me earlier."

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Snape acknowledged the fact that it could very well be. Peter, after all, was clear as glass in his loyalty to the spirit; he, on the other hand, being Slytherin, might very well have been assumed to be at the very most neutral, considering that Harry was Gryffindor. _Despite_ the fact that he was the one Harry had chosen to give his wand, and the fact that he had been around and relatively supportive during both of the major meetings between Dumbledore and Harry that he knew of … perhaps Dumbledore was so blinded by the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry that he didn't see that Snape's … oh, friendship, he supposed, if he must … with Harry transcended that boundary.

Or perhaps Dumbledore was smarter than he was giving him credit for being, and had another reason for requesting his presence entirely. The only way to find out, really, was to go. Besides, if the Headmaster was calling a meeting that excluded the visibly pro-Harry students … it was infinitely better to be in on the planning than to be caught by surprise in the aftermath.

Pinning Peter with a searching gaze, he nodded, quickly, once. "I'll let you know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 July 2003  
> 21 September 2011  
> 5 September 2012  
> 5 April 2019


	9. A Christmassy Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for brief use of fatphobic slurs. 
> 
> (Another thing I like to think I'm better about now ...) 
> 
> ==
> 
> Okay, this chapter took a while. Part of it was deciding just how much I wanted to include. Finally, I decided that I'd let Harry have a bit of a break and get back to seriously torturing him next chapter. Well … as much of a break as having to deal with both Lily and her family can be called …
> 
> I'm sure there's something subtly wrong about posting something associated with Christmas at the beginning of August. *pauses for a moment* Eh, at least it's still winter in the Southern Hemisphere.
> 
> Harry, Lily and Petunia don't belong to me, though I think I'll try to claim at least partial ownership of Lily's parents, considering that I'm the one who gave them actual personalities. *eyes approaching mob of lawyers* Or maybe not.
> 
> Find Our Way Home is an absolutely wonderful song (I sing its praises. Lalalalala~) that you better believe does not belong to me. My creativity is confined to the written word, not such beautiful ear-candy as this song. It actually belongs to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra (I sing their praises too. Lalalalala~~!). And anyone who knows of it and wants to contest me by pointing out that the CD was not released until 1998 and thus Harry could not have possibly heard it …
> 
> Well, I doubt that PS2s (or whatever it was that Dudley threw out the window) existed in 1991 either. Just bear with me.
> 
> (10/26/2012: more random minor edits)

"Is everything all right, Lily? You seem quieter than usual …"

She shook her head. "Yes, mother, everything's fine. The last couple of days have just been a bit … eventful."

"Oh? What happened?" Her mother asked; a bit distantly since most of her attention was on the road.

"Anything we'd understand?" Her father qualified, humor lacing his tone. He had adjusted perhaps best to Lily's magic; where Petunia sniped and spat and her mother did her best to pretend that the school she spent ten months of the year at was just another boarding school, her father had taken a genuine interest in the wizarding world.

 _Well, I currently have the spirit of a teenage boy who hasn't even been born yet trapped in my head._ "I'm afraid not, Daddy … it's kind of complicated."

"Aw, did poor wittle Lily have a fight with her _boyfriend_?" Petunia sneered from the opposite end of the back seat – ever since Lily got that letter on her eleventh birthday, her sister had made a point of staying as far away from her as possible, except when close quarters was required for some inevitably nefarious pursuit.

 _:She_ does _seem to be of the opinion that magic is some sort of infectious disease.:_ Harry observed, almost clinically. Lily fought to suppress a snicker. _:And I'm afraid she gets worse as she gets older, not better.:_

 _:Good thing I'm not around to witness it, then.:_ Lily replied flippantly.

She was surprised by the burst of very real pain that lighthearted comment caused. _:Don't_ say _that.:_ Harry pled. _:I'm hoping that this time around, things will be just different enough …:_

_:Okay! I take it back. Sorry. It was just a joke …:_

_Why does it_ matter _so much to him?_

* * *

"So, tell us about what you've learned so far this year." Lily's father prompted as they sat down at dinner that evening.

"Well … my Head Girl duties keep me pretty busy; even busier than I was as a prefect, since I now have to preside over them in addition to the more usual duties. I'm still first in class in everything but Transfiguration and Potions, though."

"No." His eyes were unnaturally wide. "Lily Evans not the top of the class in absolutely everything? Say it isn't so!"

She giggled. "It's no surprise, Daddy. James has always been better than me at Transfiguration, it's just that until recently I've been getting better grades because I actually bother to turn my work in – but this year he's been better about that, so I've lost my edge."

Petunia sniffed. "Sounds like a lazy bum to me."

"Oh, like you should talk? Considering that lard ball you have as a boyfriend … of course, I suppose you had to settle for what you could get."

"Petunia!" "Lily!"

They exchanged mutinous glances and muttered "Sorry," – while their eyes promised anything but – in unison.

"So, is James also your superior in Potions?" Her mother prompted, a vaguely uncomfortable look on her face at the decidedly unusual class name.

Lily laughed. "Are you kidding? James is … decent, I suppose, at Potions. But I'm certainly a great deal better – and I actually try on the assignments, whereas I sometimes think he makes his up in the five minutes before class starts. No, the only one ahead of me is one of the Slytherins, Severus Snape."

"Slytherin – that's the house with all the pureblood Neo-Nazi types in it, right?"

"Yeah." Lily replied, proud of her father for remembering. "I swear, if a wizard with Muggle blood ever _did_ get sorted into that house, he'd probably be run out of the school within the first week."

 _:Hardly.:_ Harry snorted. _:In fact, I can name one very famous half-blood that lasted all seven years. Prefect and Head Boy, even.:_

 _:Really?:_ Lily asked, skeptical. _:Who?:_

 _:Tom Riddle.:_ When that provoked no noticeable reaction, he sighed audibly (well, audibly to her, at least) and prodded, _:Lord Voldemort?:_ At the thrill of shock that ran through her and temporarily deprived her of thought, he sighed – even more loudly – and gave her the impression that he was rolling his eyes. _:You-Know-Who …?:_

 _:Yes, I realized that was who you were talking about.:_ Lily snapped, before choking as the actually message finally hit her brain. _:No way! Mr. I-Hate-and-Want-to-Kill-All-Muggles is half-Muggle_ himself _?:_

_:Quite ironic, is it not?:_

_:I don't believe it.:_

The impression of a shrug. _:That's your problem. Ask the headmaster, though – I bet he could give you several more examples in addition to confirming that one.:_ A sigh. _:Really, it's just one more of those misconceptions about that house that I paid homage to when I was alive, but am now beginning to think are nothing but a crock of bull.:_

She became aware of someone pounding her on the back. Petunia, of course; she took great joy in pounding Lily's back far too hard, without Lily being able to effectively protest to their parents. Her deep dislike of being near Lily, as had already been noted, did have the _occasional_ exception. "You okay?"

Lily waved as she caught her breath. "Yeah, I'm fine. Something just … went down the wrong way, I guess." _:Don't_ do _that to me.:_

 _:I wasn't_ expecting _you to react that violently.:_

 _:Are you_ kidding _? Finding that out would be like … like finding out that Hitler's mother was_ Jewish _!*:_

* * *

"Close your eyes … or whatever the equivalent is … _now_."

 _:Haven't we been over this before? I'm_ not _going to look.:_ Harry grumbled. _:It wouldn't kill you to trust me – or at least trust that I'm honorable enough not to look – just a little. You're beautiful and all, but I have absolutely no interest in seeing you naked.:_

"Good. See that it stays that way." And she did not feel at all insulted by that assessment. Her feminine pride was not pricked even the slightest bit by Harry's emphatically complete lack of interest in her.

And even if it was – just a little – she was certainly entirely too intelligent to acknowledge it. Once she was certain that Harry had metaphorically turned his back, she stripped and got into her pajamas more than twice as fast as she would have if she hadn't had a boy stuck in the back of her head.

Even though Harry was being amazingly good about the situation – despite his occasional grumbles, he had never yet failed to "look away" when she told him to, and if he was peeking, he was doing so unobtrusively enough that she couldn't tell – he was still a _boy_ , and the sooner she got him out of her head, the better.

Except she had met the eyes of practically everyone at Hogwarts – with the exception of James, who she wouldn't inflict with Harry again for anything, not even to get him out of _her_ head, and Sirius and Snape and Dumbledore, who she hadn't been able to find that entire evening – and absolutely nothing had happened … and in the morning, what with having to finish all the packing she hadn't had the time to do the night before, there had been no time and Harry had been quiet enough that it had quite slipped her mind. So, for the moment, she was stuck with him.

She snuggled under her covers, letting out a deep, heartfelt sigh. Somewhat disconcertingly, she could feel that sentiment being echoed by the voice in her head. _:I didn't know …:_ the voice murmured, yawning, _:… that there were Muggle beds that could feel this good, too …:_

* * *

The moon shone through the window, bathing the desk with its dim silvery glow as she slipped silently out of bed. For a moment, she cocked her head, listening for any sign that the other inhabitant of her head might still be awake. Nothing.

She looked back at her bed, a frown passing briefly over her face as she considered Harry's offhanded remark from hours before. It was really nothing special, as far as beds go. And having been left uninhabited for four months or so, in addition to being nothing special, it was also somewhat dusty and even a bit lumpy in spots. What sort of place had Harry lived, that he even _considered_ placing _this_ bed in the same realm as the ones at Hogwarts?

She could not imagine Petunia living any way other than affluently, especially if she _did_ end up marrying that lard ball boyfriend of hers – she had heard (from Petunia, who absolutely loved bragging about such things, even to her much despised sister) that he was fairly loaded, and it's not like they weren't set up to inherit a reasonable amount as well. So, barring the bank dying or something of that nature, her sister (and herself … not that it would have mattered) ought to be pretty well set up for life. And Harry would live near Petunia, which means that he, too, would be living in a relatively affluent neighborhood.

So … why the bed?

She shook her head. Speculation was not helping anything, only confusing her and wasting time. Probably his parents were just cheapskates or something. She moved over to the desk, silently pulling open the drawer and drawing out a sheet of parchment, ink, and a quill. Habitual movements, familiar from all the summers she had spent on her homework, requiring little to no thought.

Freed, her mind returned to its previous occupation, much to her annoyance. Usually she'd be in bed, asleep, dreaming sweet dreams of James … but then Harry had to come along and ruin it all.

She had seen how James treated Sirius when (presumably) Harry had reappeared in Sirius' head; more than anything, she did not want to be forced to face that cold rejection as well. It was funny … for a long time, she would not have given a rat's ass for what James thought about her or how he acted towards her. In fact, she would have been decidedly and aggressively uninterested. Yet … somewhere along the line, things had changed.

Now, she wasn't entirely sure she could live without him. And she knew that she wouldn't want to. That was, perhaps, the only comforting thing about Harry's revelation. At least, if they were to die as they had in Harry's world, as he (and she and James, too, of course) hoped they would not, at least they would die together. If James was not to survive her, she wanted more than anything not to be the one to survive him.

Picking up the quill, she idly twisted it, staring out the window with blank eyes for a time before suddenly snapping back to the present, dipping the quill, and setting it to paper.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore …_

* * *

"Black!"

Sirius turned to see – of all people! – Snape hurrying his way. Well, not precisely hurrying … he was still gliding in that odd walk of his the way he always did. But he was gliding considerably faster than usual. "What do you want, Snape?"

The black-eyed Slytherin examined him wordlessly for a moment. "I just wanted to say … thanks. I admire the way you protected Harry from the truth potion that night."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sirius grimaced at the memory. Those had _not_ been the most fun hours of his life by any stretch of his imagination. And he still wasn't entirely sure why Dumbledore had targeted _him_ … wasn't it obvious that Harry was no longer around?

Another, closer look. "Harry's not in there anymore, is he." The sneer Snape had already worn – given that he was talking to a Gryffindor in the first place – deepened. "Figures. I should have known that being that decent was out of character for you."

" _You_ are lecturing me on being _decent_?" Sirius laughed in his face.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Screw you, Black."

He turned and walked away.

* * *

Lily was hiding something.

Harry was sure of that; she was keeping entirely too tight a lid on her thoughts, tighter than before. There was something hidden, something that she desperately didn't want him to see. But what?

He shook his head. _You're reading too much into things, Po-Harry._ Even in his derisive thoughts, he had to be careful; though some of James' comments had given him the impression that his shields were usually far better than those of the person he set up shop in, there was still the possibility that something might slip through. And he hadn't come this far to lose now simply because he called himself a fool just that little bit too loudly.

 _She's a girl, right? I'm sure there are_ thousands _of things that she doesn't want me to know. And frankly, I'm not sure I would_ want _to know them._ Like … fantasies about James. Ew. _That_ brought up mental images he certainly didn't need – and far too many of them. And that was just the _first_ thing he could think of that she might be hiding.

He was better off not knowing.

Harry was finally pulled – somewhat thankfully – from his reverie as, across the breakfast table from their body, Lily's father _(his grandfather, though he knew he shouldn't be thinking it, should avoid the thought, much like his last name, at all costs, but oh, if meeting his father had been a letdown, meeting his grandfather had been everything he had dreamed it might be … even if it wasn't a real meeting, just to see him and hear him was enough …)_ leaned forward. "Are you sure you're doing all right? You're still being unusually quiet."

He could feel Lily's lips quirk with the reluctant amusement she was broadcasting (to him, at least). "For some reason, I get the oddest feeling that I've had this conversation before …"

A level look. "And you avoided the question, both then and now." He leaned back in his chair. "It's just you and me, you know – your mother took Petunia out shopping earlier. So you needn't fear your sister's ridicule." An earnest look. "And if it really is boy troubles, just let me know and I'll start polishing my shotgun now."

"Boy troubles?" Lily snorted before she could stop herself. _If only you knew._ "Not … exactly. James has been just as much of a sweetheart as he always is."

A mock-suspicious glance. "I see. Considering how much you complained at me about him before last year, I'd say that's pretty bad. Shall we go shoot him now, or later?"

" _Da~ad!_ "

* * *

_:Do you not pay any attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts, or is your teacher just horrible?:_

Lily looked up from her essay to glare at the wall, as if imagining Harry's face was painted there. "What's so wrong, O Wise and Knowledgeable _Fourth_ Year?" The sarcasm dripped.

_:That sentence. 'The Unforgivable Curses are called that for several reasons, one of which being because they are impossible to block or defend against.' Pfeh.:_

"Well, they are. And what would _you_ know about it?"

_:No they're – well, the Killing Curse and maybe the Cruciatus I'll grant. But anyone can throw off the Imperius if they try hard enough.:_

"Really. Then why did neither the text nor the professor say anything about that?" Among the things Lily liked least, having her academic knowledge challenged – especially by someone who so obviously _had_ to be less knowledgeable than her – was high on the list. She knew there were people smarter than her and people that knew more than her, but she was not used to running into either (with the exception of her teachers), and certainly could not accept such a possible superiority from someone three years younger than her. Even if he was a ghost from the future.

 _:One's an idiot and the other was written by idiots seems to be the most logical conclusion.:_ Harry returned with infuriating calm. _:Besides, I thought that the Unforgivables were supposed to be covered in sixth year. What're you doing, not getting to them until the middle of_ seventh _?:_

She flushed. "Okay, we're a little behind, but that's not Professor Wood's fault! We had a streak of pretty bad teachers for the last few years; we've had to spend a lot of time catching up."

 _:Hmm. I'd think that the Unforgivables would have made it a little earlier on the curriculum, though, considering the times. I mean, sure, you're still students, but that doesn't always mean that you won't encounter that sort of situation.:_ He shrugged, and his tone was tinged with an edge of wry humor that she didn't quite understand the reason for. _:I can tell you're going to ignore me. Go ahead. Just … remember for future reference. In case_ you _are ever subjected to Imperius.:_

"Like that'll ever happen." She scoffed, and turned back to her essay. She had more important things to do than listen to the ghost of a fourth year.

* * *

"So how does this flying-on-broomsticks thing work?" Her dad asked. "Can it be any old broom? Or does it have to be one of those special, sleek brooms like we saw in that one shop?"

Lily considered. "I don't know, actually. The brooms made specifically for riding are the only ones I've ever really used. I'd think that you could use any old broom, though the others have lots of useful charms on them – for cushioning, balance, that sort of thing …"

 _:I'd guess the same, though I've never tried it out either.:_ Harry volunteered, after Lily had carefully _not_ asked him. As far as she was concerned, the argument over her essay on the Unforgivable Curses was just the latest bullet on her 'Why I Want Him Out Of My Head Now!' list. Not only was he a teenaged boy of dubious ethical persuasion, he also had an annoying tendency to act like a know-it-all whenever he thought he knew anything about a subject.

He got it from his mother … but that's rather beside the point.

With a growing grin on his face, her dad took his hands from behind his back – one of which just happening to hold the broom that her mom used to sweep out the kitchen and garage every week or so. "Care to test that hypothesis?"

She suppressed a groan at the enthusiastic look on his face – the look that she had never quite managed to build a defense against. Knowing her dad, he had probably been plotting a way to ask her this since the first time he saw a broomstick shop. _I should have known …_ "Sure. Why not." She fell into step behind her father as he led the way out into the backyard. "Hey … just how long are Mom and Petunia planning on being out shopping, anyway …?"

He threw a guileless smile over his shoulder. "Why, most of the day, now that you mention it. Are you trying to imply something, dear daughter of mine?"

Lily just shook her head, smiling fondly – and was surprised to find that 'fond smile' emotion mimicked by her fellow mental resident. _:He's like Mr. Weasley and his plug collection.:_ Harry laughed softly.

About to take offense, Lily was distracted. _:A …_ plug _collection? Who'd collect plugs?:_

 _:Ah, but they're so fascinating, with their ability to … um … do_ something _related to eckeltricity, you know.:_

Harry was obviously mimicking someone; Lily, who had encountered the same sort of wizard cluelessness towards the facts of Muggle life was hard-pressed to keep herself from giggling. It was one of the few times they were in complete accord, as they laughed at the faults of the world that both had been unexpectedly been thrust into.

"Go ahead and put it on the ground." She instructed her father. "It's one of the first things we learn in flying class, how to call our brooms to our hands. If this can't do that, I probably won't be able to fly it, either."

As he obediently laid the broom on the grass, Lily held her right hand over it, finding that odd mental focus necessary. "Up!" The broom jumped into her hand, though she had not truly believed it would, but there was something wrong.

Her hand was smaller, and the small braided ring she wore on her left middle finger – a friendship gift from Erica that they had exchanged in second year – had disappeared. Her head, too, felt oddly light … almost as if all her hair had been abruptly chopped off.

She raised the broomless hand to look more closely at it, opening and closing it experimentally. Except it wasn't _her_ mind ordering the movements anymore.

"Who are you, and what have you done to my daughter?" Carrying quiet, latent threat, though not yet visibly angry.

Harry lifted his head, pinning the man with green eyes that were probably, to his eyes, the only familiar thing left to this young man that had so suddenly stolen his daughter's place. He chuckled nervously. "Um … boy troubles?"

* * *

"So you're saying your name's Harry, you got sent back here from the future to take up residence in my daughter's head due to a misfired spell of some sort … and you're dead."

"That covers most of it, I think." Harry, leaning against the broom, sighed silently in relief. Thankfully, Lily's father had decided to hear him out instead of going for the previously threatened shotgun. "But the spell didn't misfire – it worked _exactly_ the way I wanted it to. It's just that the information I had never specified what the consequences were for the caster."

"Then why on _earth_ did you do it in the first place?" The older man demanded. "Surely you could have researched more … found a safer alternative. Something that didn't … well, it sounds like effectively suicide, even if it didn't work out that way exactly."

"I did _try_ to research it more. But that one scrap of parchment was literally all I could find on the spell. I suppose I might have been able to find more in the Restricted Section, but good luck trying to convince a teacher to give me a note allowing me in there legally. And I learned the hard way first year that trying to sneak in is _not_ a good idea, after the first book that I picked up started screaming its head off."

Harry shrugged. "And, well … we've been at loggerheads ever since I entered the Wizarding World. With him trying to kill me practically every time I turned around … I kinda started feeling like it was my duty to get rid of him. This spell was the perfect opportunity and" another shrug "it's not like there were too many people that would miss me."

Lily's father – and Lily herself, listening carefully from her prison inside their mind – was considerably taken aback by this cavalier attitude the young man in front of him was taking toward his own life. "What about your parents?"

"Dead." As if to stave off any pity, he added, "Since I was very young. I hardly remember them at all."

"Who did you live with, then?"

"Aunt and uncle." Shortly. Then, a pointed glance. "And don't even try with them. They've always been highly disappointed that I haven't somehow managed to off myself during the school year; I'm sure that now that I have, they're ecstatic."

"And your friends?"

Harry's face twisted. "Two good ones. Now them … they're the only real reason I hesitated as long as I did. They'll miss me … probably more than I miss them, and that's a lot. But better their grief for me than for their families or other friends or the families of others, or even each other, because Voldemort continued unchecked." _And the rest of the wizarding world will 'mourn' my passing, I'm sure … and good riddance. Perhaps now they'll learn to take care of their_ own _problems instead of placing them on the shoulders of a one-year-old child!_

"I think you underestimate your importance to them."

"Perhaps." He thought of the many arguments they'd had, of how long Ron had been hateful towards him simply because he was he was jealous of qualities Harry would have happily disposed of himself. He had no doubt that Ron and Hermione would miss him – despite all the arguments and breakups, whenever it had really mattered, they had been there for each other, and they had always gotten back together. But he doubted it would be as bad a situation as Lily's father seemed to be trying to imply. They still had each other, after all. They'd survive, go on with life … maybe even forget him, someday.

The dark auburn-haired man heaved a giant sigh. "No matter what I say, I'm not going to convince you that you shouldn't have done that, am I?"

Harry had to work to suppress his smile at the man's dramatic overacting. "No, sir." He waved his hand, as if searching for the correct words. "I … whether you believe me or not, whatever you think, I felt it was my duty to take down Voldemort. So please don't fault me for taking the opportunity when it was handed to me to do what I thought was right."

"When you put it that way … well, I still think it's not right to load a person your age with that amount of even imagined responsibility, but I suppose I'll stop trying to convince you otherwise." He reached over and ruffled Harry's hair. "And no 'sir's, please. My name's Thomas."

Seeing an opportunity to use that age-old gag, Harry smiled mischievously. "Yes sir."

* * *

After a bit of trial and error, it was determined that Lily could take control back – and that their bodies would shift to reflect that change – once the broom was removed from his/her hands. Placing it back in their hands caused them to shift once again.

This determined, father and daughter (and grandson, even if neither of the others knew it) decided that perhaps they'd finish the experiment another time and, nursing cold faces and fingers, turned back inside to continue over a nice mug of hot chocolate.

"Well … having a boy stuck in your head must be a rather unique experience. Too back my trusty old shotgun won't be of much use in this case." Thomas Evans winked.

Lily stared deep into her mug of chocolate for a long moment before grudgingly admitting that he had really been quite a gentlemen about the whole thing. "In between the snippy remarks."

The auburn-haired man eyed his daughter knowingly. "For some reason, I'm getting the idea that you don't like Harry all that much. Why not? He seemed like a rather nice young man to me."

"… Dumbledore doesn't trust him." She finally offered, unwilling to admit that her main objections were relatively nebulous and, in their most articulate form, resembled nothing so much as a six-year-old shrieking about getting cooties, combined with the sort of codependent whiny girl she had seen occasionally in romance novels and sworn that she would never act like.

 _:Because I'm unwilling to tell him my_ goddamn _surname.:_ Harry snarled in the back of her head, surprising her – and most likely himself – with both the obscenity and the depth of feeling backing it up.

Somehow sensing that this was a slightly … sensitive topic, Lily's father smoothly switched topics. "I assume Harry's the reason you've been somewhat … spaced out at times since you came home. And the reason you've been quieter than usual."

Lily nodded. "It's very aggravating. If I'm not talking with him, I'm generally stuck musing over … certain other things that he said before. It's like having an annoying little brother sitting on my shoulder 24/7."

"What sorts of other things?"

Silence.

"Come on, Lily … I promise I won't get mad …"

Her eyes had turned away from her mug, but they still looked determinedly anywhere but her father. "Well … you know James? Supposedly, the two of us _do_ get married, sometime in the next four years …"

Stony glare. " _Not_ before you both finish school, I hope …"

She smiled weakly. "I think even James and I can manage to hold out at least another six months, Daddy."

"Good." Her father relaxed back out of what she fondly referred to as 'shotgun mode'. "Well, good! I'm sure your mum will love the opportunity to pull together a wedding. … Though I'm afraid I sense a 'but' in there somewhere …"

"Butaboutfouryearsfromnowwe'llbothbekilledbyYou-Know-Who." She muttered, still avoiding looking at her father.

"… What?" Her father was unfortunately skilled at interpreting her rapid-fire mutters. "Lily, look at me …"

"I …" she faltered. "It might be different now; Harry said there were a lot of differences between now and what he knew of his history. … But, where he comes from, James and I … die … a little less than four years from now."

"Over my dead body!"

That gave Lily a horrible thought. _:Harry … my parents do live, right?:_

_:As much as I'd like to say something reassuring … they've never visited your sister, so … I doubt it.:_

"What is it?" Thomas asked suspiciously, as he saw his daughter's face fall even further.

"I'm afraid … that might actually be a relatively accurate statement." She knew better than to lie to her father – he could always tell when she tried. "Harry lives … lived … near Petunia, and he said he had never seen you visit …"

Somehow, the knowledge that her family would die as well hit her harder than the thought of her own death, and she found herself on the verge of tears.

And that was the situation as Lily's mother and sister trooped in, loaded down with bags from their (evidently quite lucrative) shopping trip. "… and I don't see _why_ I can't go out with my friends tomorrow night." Petunia whined as they entered the audible range.

"It's Christmas Eve, dear. Perhaps if Lily had decided to remain at that school of hers … but since she's home, we're going to stay home and celebrate the holiday as a _family_."

"But …"

"End of subject, Petunia. You can go out with your friends another time."

Petunia entered the room first. "So you're finally up, I see. Too bad you missed our shopping trip; we had loads of fun." She gloated, making sure Lily knew exactly how _not_ sorry she was. "Then again, with such a lazy bum for a boyfriend, it's not surprising that you'd begin picking up some of his habits …"

Glare. "I guess that means you'll start putting on the pounds any day now." Lily sneered back.

"Lily!" "Petunia!"

At least there were some things that never changed.

* * *

Contentment.

It had taken him a while – especially as he kept getting distracted by Lily's snores – but he had finally found a name to put to that unfamiliar feeling that was welling up in his heart.

So Petunia was a bitch. He hadn't really expected anything else. And somehow, from this vantage point, it didn't seem so bad, more like ordinary sibling rivalry than the unabashed disgust that she lavished upon both him and the memories of his dead parents. Plus, the jabs that Lily aimed at Vernon were a real treat to hear – finally, someone who shared his opinion of the man!

And perhaps Lily's mom wasn't quite as supportive of her daughter's chosen path in life as she could have been. She still loved her daughter and made sure that Lily knew it; she'd still be there for Lily when it counted. A far cry better than anything that he had ever had.

But her father … for that, he was tempted worse than ever before to let his identity slip; for he wished more than anything that he could acknowledge his relationship to this man. He had a wonderful sense of humor, was protective of but not smothering towards his children; even when faced with a ghost that was evidently possessing his daughter, it had taken him only a few minutes to regain his equilibrium … after that, Harry felt almost as if he was part of the family.

It was something he had been introduced to by the Weasleys, but this version was infinitely better, because here, there was no doubt in his mind that he belonged, even if he was the only one who ever knew.

There was a song he had heard a bit of once, as Hermione tried to explain to Mr. Weasley how exactly a cassette tape player worked. Softly, so as not to wake Lily, he hummed it, feeling this strange … contentment … growing.

 _For we all seem to give our lives away_  
_Searching for things that we think we must own_  
_But on this evening_  
_When the year is leaving_  
_I think I would be alright_  
_If on this Christmas night_  
_I could just find my way home …_

And who knows … perhaps, somehow, in some strange way … he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 August 2003  
> 2 October 2011  
> 6 September 2012
> 
> *Quick note: Well, someone didn't pay much attention in history class – though it was actually Hitler's grandmother that was thought to be Jewish. Just in case anyone didn't know that – or thought I didn't and was about to correct me. :P Yes, it turns out that chances are low that things actually happened that way, and it's probably just an urban myth … but it would be so deliciously ironic if it were true …
> 
> ==   
> 5 April 2019
> 
> ... The pointless meandering of the above note pains me, but I did tell myself I'd leave all my author's notes in ... :P 
> 
> I was curious about just how much of an urban myth it is and did a bit of Googling, and it sounds like it's possibly rooted in [opposition propaganda](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maria_Schicklgruber)? 
> 
> (Also, grandfather, not grandmother. Dear 2003!me, I don't remember if Google was a thing yet, but I'm sure there was _some_ search engine you could have used to fact check better than this ... XD)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note: More brief usage of fatphobic language.
> 
> ==
> 
> Um … you know, the thing about college is, the work isn't quite as hard as I was afraid it would be (my brain hasn't spontaneously combusted yet! ^^), but it's a whole hellalot more time consuming. I spend less time in class than in high school, but probably three times as much time on homework.
> 
> I need sleep …
> 
> So, yes, that's my little halfwitted roundabout way of explaining why this chapter is so abominably late. I've almost decided to give up on my so-called deadlines altogether … except for the fact that they are helpful. Sometimes. Even if they don't necessarily seem that way.
> 
> You may notice that there are no review answers at the end of the chapter. I am continuing to do them; however, I suspected that the chapter was slightly more important and thus, assuming my university's network actually lets me upload this now (*grumblemutter*), I figured going ahead and posting the chapter itself would be preferable.
> 
> *yawns* HP doesn't belong to me. And if it did, just now, I'd probably trade it in for the opportunity to get in even two more extra hours of sleep at night. But there's so much else to do . . .
> 
> (9/21/2003) Gah! *flails about* Thank you, all you people who have reviewed this chapter already - you inadvertently pointed out a very stupid mistake that I had made. For those of you who have read this chapter already, the only real change I have made is in the date at the end of the chapter: it was supposed to be December 24th.
> 
> (10/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

"Psst! Hey, Harry, wake up …"

"G'way Ron … lemme sleep …"

"Watch where you're swinging that thing, kid! You nearly took my head off!"

Slowly, through sheer force of will, Harry forced himself awake. A comfortable bed … Ron trying to wake him up … had it all been just a dream? Wait, kid?

Of course, at about that point, he opened his eyes on a face that was decidedly _not_ Ron's. "Mr. Evans?"

"Ssh!" The man put a finger to his grinning face. "Do you want to wake everyone else up?"

Harry sat up all the way, pulling the broom onto his lap. Peering at the man through one slit eye, he dryly observed, "Considering that even Lily's still asleep and it's only barely beginning to lighten outside the windows, I really don't want to know what time it is, do I?"

"Most likely not." Lily's father admitted unrepentantly. "But I wanted a chance to speak with you alone."

Harry settled himself in for the long haul. "Oh dear. That sounds … ominous."

That brought a grin to the man's face. "Oh no, nothing like that. It's just … I was digging through some of my grandmother's old stuff last night … and since it is nearly Christmas and all …" He cleared his throat, and suddenly stuck out his hand, a tiny, wrapped box sitting in the center. "Take it. It's an early Christmas present."

"But … you didn't have to …" Harry spluttered as, seeing that he was making no move to take the box, Thomas firmly deposited it in his hand. "I don't …"

"It just made me think of you; it's more a spur-of-the-moment thing than a _real_ present … go on, open it!"

"But …" One last protesting look; futile, from the determined cast to Thomas' face. With a sigh, he gave up, and began the laborious process of carefully unwrapping the gift.

It was … a small box. And inside that box, a ring that made his fingertips tingle when he picked it up to look at it – making sure to keep the other hand on the broom at all times, of course. What seemed at first to be an almost braided-looking pattern engraved in the silvery ring turned out to be, at closer look, delicately wrought scales. On opposing sides of the ring were two snake heads, each swallowing the other's tail. Underneath one snake's head, engraved on the inner side of the ring, Harry thought he saw a letter … perhaps an 'S'? … but it had been considerably worn away.

He cautiously slipped it onto his right ring finger, then gasped as it shrank to fit. "Where –" He squeaked, shook his head, continued, "– where did you say you had gotten this, again?"

Thomas looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Well, my grandmother passed away a while ago and, for some reason, felt that I should be the one to inherit her coffers of jewelry. I go digging through there every now and then, just for fun – it's kind of amazing, the wide variety of gaudy cr – stuff she'd managed to gather over the years. Mostly buying it cheap from pawn shops, I'd guess."

Harry rubbed his thumb against the ring, again feeling that tingling sensation. "Mr. Evans …" he began slowly, "… I'd suggest that you introduce Lily to these coffers sometime. Soon. Make her sit there and go through everything with you."

"… all right. Why?"

"This" he held up his right hand "is of magical origins. If your grandmother was as Muggle as you – and I'm assuming she was – that means that she unintentionally bought at least one magical artifact out of a … well, wherever it was that she bought it, chances are very good that she also bought other magical things. This appears to be harmless … but some of the other stuff might not be."

He looked slightly shaken. "I'll take that into consideration."

Rubbing his thumb on that ring, Harry noted, could very quickly become an exceedingly bad habit of his. "But now … I don't have anything I can give you …"

"That wasn't the point, you know. You don't have to give me anything. I just gave that to you because it reminded me of you … and because, especially during this season, I wanted to make you feel like a part of the family, especially since you don't have a family of your own."

"But I still feel like I ought to give you something too." Harry argued.

 _A family of your own …_ The phrase echoed in his mind, and he suddenly knew exactly what present he could give. "Mr. Evans? I think I do have a present for you after all … but you must promise not to tell another living soul. Not your wife, or Lily or Petunia, or any other wizards or witches you may run across … _no one._ "

"Why the secrecy?"

"Because it's something I don't want to become general knowledge. At least … not yet. I probably shouldn't even tell you … but … I feel like you can keep my secret." _And I want to tell you … oh, how I want to …_

"Is it a harmful secret?"

"No!" That, Harry didn't even have to consider. "In fact, keeping it is probably doing _me_ more harm than telling it would; it's certainly not hurtful to anyone else."

Thomas could probably see Harry's desperate wish to tell almost as easily as Harry; he finally nodded. "I swear on all that's holy to me …" the flash of a grin "… and my hope of someday seeing Hogwarts, that I will never tell your secret to another soul without first gaining your express permission."

Harry took a deep breath, and prodded very carefully at the back of his head. The little Lily-bubble shifted slightly, then returned to snoring. She was still asleep. The silence stretched, until finally, he broke it. "Potter."

"Lily's boyfriend?" What did that have to do with anything?

"That's my surname. I was christened Harry James Potter, first and unfortunately only son of James and Lily Potter."

"My Lily?" The girl's father mouthed, inordinately shocked. Somehow, it had never quite occurred to him that he might actually _be_ part of the spirit's family.

Harry seemed to be trying to hide a smile. "Yes, your Lily." He assured Thomas solemnly.

"I'm … a _grandfather_?"

Suddenly all traces of the smile were gone; quite evident hesitance took its place. "If you'll have me …"

 _That's right … he's an orphan, isn't he? And from what I gathered yesterday, his home life is probably not all that great either … he may very well be_ used _to being rejected …_ That, right there, was more than enough reason to Thomas to make sure that this world was different. Perhaps it was too late for this Harry … but he would not let his daughter's son grow up in a loveless environment if there was anything he could do to stop it.

"Of course." He poured all the conviction he had into those two words. He reached out and gathered the younger man – still a boy, really, despite the age that showed in his eyes – into an intentionally stifling hug. "Welcome to the family, Harry."

…

"Ouch! Watch where you're swinging that thing!"

* * *

"It's snowing!"

Harry grinned silently as he watched his grandfather dance around the room like a child in a toy store. He then stood, reveling in the feeling of standing on his own two feet, in his own body again, if only for a little while, and meandered over to the window. "So it is." He agreed peacefully.

"Well, aren't you excited too? I thought everyone loved snow!"

"It's nice enough, I suppose." Indeed, he now had memories, _good_ memories, of playing in the snow with his friends at Hogwarts. It went a long way in making him revise his opinion of the substance upwards. But they say first impressions are the ones that count most …

Even now, in an ordinary, decidedly non-Hogwarts house, standing there next to his grandfather _(his grandfather!)_ , buried deep beneath the contentment, he could feel the old claustrophobic sensations squeezing at his abdomen. To him, for many years, all snow had meant to him was the fact that he was essentially trapped inside … with Dudley.

And even those few times he managed to escape outside, well, Dudley certainly hadn't chased him (too much work, slogging through the snow and battling the cold), but with the sort of clothes he had always worn – not, by any stretch of the imagination, suitable for a great deal of wear outside during the winter – it had been only a short time before he was forced to return inside.

Still, he forced himself to look outside, to watch the near-wall of white falling and to remind himself of the good times. He was safe here, in Lily's house. There would be no one chasing him out into the snow, here.

"… Why?"

 _I knew it._ Harry didn't even bother to use the obvious stalling technique, 'why what?' He knew what Thomas meant … and knew that even if he stalled, Thomas was persistent enough that he'd get an answer out of him eventually. "Because …" he tried, and failed, to organize his thoughts and feelings into something coherent, explainable. "Just because."

"But your last name … it's an indication of your family, of a part of who you are." He shook his head. "I just can't see why you'd be so eager to throw that all away."

Harry sighed, turning to perch on the desk, beginning to twist his ring. "Lily and James died when I was one, and I was sent to live with Petunia. Because of my name, because of 'who my family was' – or, more specifically, _what_ – she and her husband hated me. For ten years I was the freak child, son of two good-for-nothings who were stupid enough to drive drunk. … That's the story they told the neighbors."

His eyes pierced Thomas. "Then, when I turn eleven, I discover a whole new world that I never even suspected existed. Magic was beautiful, wonderful … I was on cloud nine. But," he made a chopping motion, "I still had to return 'home' " the word was invested with such depth of negative emotion that Thomas had to control himself to keep himself from recoiling, "for the rest of the summer and every succeeding summer."

"Furthermore, the wizarding world itself did not turn out to be quite the paradise I was expecting it to be. Expecting to be just another wizard and perhaps, for the first time in my life, actually fit in somewhere … I found myself accorded the status of a child celebrity – I, in the minds of the people of the wizarding world, had saved them all."

He shook his head. "I knew _nothing_ , yet they expected me to know everything, to be some sort of miniature god … either that or they blamed me for the disappearance of their Lord and were out to kill me." A grand gesture. "All because of my name. All because I was, not just Harry, but Harry Potter."

"Can you really blame me for wanting a break now that I'm dead?"

"It seems to me, though, that you've gotten into nearly as big a fix by not telling your last name as you used to be in due to it."

"But even so … even with all the suspicion, I'm still free, don't you see? No one looks at me anymore and wipes a tear from their eye, saying 'Oh, you're just like your father' … no one expects me to be anything like him." He ran his hand through his hair and, in the same motion, suddenly made sure to pat down his bangs. "You probably think the expectations associated with being James and Lily's son from the future would be an easier load to bear than the suspicion I'm currently under … but I don't."

He idly drew a smiley face in the condensation on the window pane, in some odd way welcoming the freezing feeling that overtook his fingertips near to the point of pain. "The way I see it, this is a chance for me to be taken as myself. If Dumbledore now thinks I'm a dark wizard intending to take over the world … so be it. Better that he think that honestly than be influenced into believing I can do no wrong simply because I'm the son of his Golden Boy."

"Furthermore, once my name comes out, so too will my past … and everything that comes with it. I don't know that I can face that again, not now that I know what it's like to be without the adoration, the publicity … the constant stares …"

"Why? Whatever you did, it happens years from now. Why do you think anyone will care?"

"Because my celebrity status was never about what I _did_ , not really. It was about what I _was_. You see … Lily and James died …"

"… But I lived."

* * *

Christmas Eve.

Like the Christmas season in general, Harry loved it … but didn't always like it all that much. The juxtaposition of the good memories of recent years with the earlier bad ones – which he could never quite convince himself _weren't_ the way things were supposed to be – always left him feeling rather confused.

Occasionally glad that usually at least one of his friends went home, so that he'd have that small bit more solitude than usual to wrestle with his feelings … and, in truth, the relative solitude made him feel more comfortable because it was closer to "the way things ought to be".

The warm closeness of a single family Christmas Eve was entirely new to him from either direction. He basked in the warmth, aware of Lily's curiosity but feeling too contented to really care.

Between the niceness of the evening and the feeling of a certain catharsis – he hadn't realized just how much the secrecy had been weighing on him until he noticed how much better he felt now that Thomas knew – even Lily's ever-present niggling suspicion of him and the fact that he couldn't be a _real_ participant in the evening's activities could not put a dent in his mood.

Of course, he ought to have known that thinking thoughts and feeling emotions like that was the surest way to ruin an otherwise idyllic situation. It almost never failed.

Dinner was long over, they had just finished singing carols around the tree – Petunia, who evidently found this activity juvenile in the extreme, with a mutinous look on her face. Thomas turned to his daughters. "Well? You know the rule – one present each. Which shall it be?"

This, evidently, was another long-held family tradition … certainly _not_ one Petunia was even tacitly objecting to, though. For the first time, Harry was distinctly reminded of Dudley as he watched Petunia dive into the pile headfirst, carefully judging each present. He almost expected her to burst out with a _"But I had one more_ last _year!"_ , the resemblance was so strong.

Except she still managed to be more polite about it than Dudley ever had been.

Urgh. Just thinking about the lard ball was giving him a headache. And here he had hoped that dying would have allowed him to escape from the Dursleys for good at last. At least he didn't have to deal with Petunia directly. She was definitely more bearable now, but there were still some very obvious personality traits that remained the same.

Odd, that he could find it within himself to forgive and even make friends with the boy who would later be, arguably, directly responsible for the murder of his parents, yet not the woman who had played an integral part in his life for ten years.

Lily had finished unwrapping her first present, a tiny, very intricate lily that looked like it was made to attach to a charm bracelet – one of which, come to think of it, Harry was pretty sure he remembered hanging from something or another in Lily's room. He could feel her cheeks heat up; it was obviously James' gift.

 _:What are you so happy about?:_ She asked; one of the first times she had actually deigned to speak with him at any length the entire day.

Harry was feeling contented, yes, but he had been like that all day; it was certainly nothing worth remarking upon by now. Yet … bubbling up in the back of his mind, now that Lily had brought his attention to it, clashing with his feelings of peace, was a fierce, triumphant joy. One that he found disturbingly, frighteningly familiar.

No _wonder_ he had a headache!

_:Lily. Go grab a broom. Now.:_

_:Why?:_ She asked. _:It's not like you have a present to open under here, so what's the point in exposing yourself to Petunia and Mum?:_

Had he been corporeal, Harry would have closed his eyes and counted to ten. Very quickly. _:Look. If you won't let me take control, then at least_ please _go to the front door and check around outside for me.:_

_:Why?:_

_:Because … there's no time to explain. Just do it!:_

_:Oh, come on. Who would be out in this neighborhood at_ this _time of night?:_

Harry literally growled. On the verge of launching into a furious diatribe, he froze as the doorbell rang. His headache had been increasing – focused, of course, in a particular spot on his imaginary forehead – and the feeling of triumph was growing. _:Never mind, don't go to the door after all. Turn off all the lights and pretend you're not home.:_

Petunia, still carefully detaching the paper from around her present (another way in which she diverged from Dudley's behaviour, to Harry's relief), didn't even bother to look up. Thomas looked like he was about to rise when Lily, perhaps infected at last with Harry's sense of urgency, sprang to her feet. "I'll get it." _:I don't know what you're so worried about, but surely it can't be that bad.:_

_:Do you have your wand?:_

_:Of course. What, did you think I would have left it at Hogwarts?:_

_:Where is it?:_

_:On my bedside table, where it's been all vacation. Where else?:_

_Oh crap …_

Lily opened the door, coming face to face with a tall, hooded man. Shaking the hood back, he revealed slick black hair, green eyes that somehow managed to hold a demonic edge, and a slowly growing smirk. "Well, my friends, look what we have here. A fitting end to a perfect Christmas Eve, don't you think?"

Unconsciously mimicking Harry's thought of only moments before, if for a slightly different reason, Lily stumbled back and gulped. _Oh crap._

* * *

Between the black cloaks and Lily's reaction – he had _never_ seen her as afraid as this of anything or anyone – Thomas took only moments to deduce that this was the notorious Voldemort. He looked … younger, more handsome and more all-around human than the Muggle had expected. Then again, his vivid imagination had managed to invent something more embarrassingly similar to the monsters hiding under the bed that he had been afraid of as a child (he wondered, did they actually exist?) than any humanoid being had any right to be, anyway.

There were four black cloaks other than the man he assumed was Voldemort; most likely the favored few in this case. All four had their wands out, two pointed at Lily, the other two in the general direction of the rest of the family, gathered around the tree. Anger boiled in him, a fury that was rooted in his feelings of helplessness. He would die, as would his entire family … and for what? The _amusement_ of a megalomaniacal monster with delusions of grandeur?

The central man himself brought out his wand in a leisurely fashion, waving it lazily in Lily's general direction. " _Imperio._ "

_/"The three Unforgivables? What're those?"_

" _Three spells that guarantee you a life sentence in Azkaban – far worse than death, to my mind – if you're caught using them." Harry shuddered. "I already told you about the Killing Curse. The other two are the Imperius Curse and the Cruciatus Curse. Cruciatus inflicts horrendous pain and Imperius allows one total control over the mind of one's victim."_

" _As far as I know, the Imperius is the only one that can be fought off. It just takes strength of will … and the unwillingness to stay under control even when it's so nice and peaceful that way. No worries. No cares. Just peace."_

_And looking at Harry, Thomas had to wonder if the young man had ever experienced 'just peace' in his life. /_

The feeling of helplessness grew, as he watched his daughter fall under the spell without pause. Could she fight off the Imperius, when this was the first time it had ever been put on her? Did she even know that it was possible, as Harry had claimed it was?

 _Harry._ Determination washed away the helplessness when he realized there _was_ something he could do. For, as Voldemort ordered Lily to kill them – her own family! – and she turned, eyes blank, to do just that, it seemed less and less likely that she would be able to effectively resist. _But Harry could._

He ducked in through the kitchen door, thankfully not too far, hating every moment that he felt he was betraying Gladys and Petunia by leaving them to face the controlled Lily alone. Casting around the kitchen, he found the supplies closet, reemerging with broom in hand. Sure in his faith that Harry would be able to do what Lily, it seemed, could not and get them out of this mess … because without that faith he had nothing, no hope left.

 _What if Harry hadn't been here?_ Suddenly, Thomas was sure he knew exactly when and where he and his wife had died … and considering where that led, to Lily's death and a situation for Harry that, even from what little he had gathered, was completely untenable, he was more determined than ever to find some way to survive.

_For all our sakes … I hope Harry can pull this off._

* * *

He was drowning again, smothered by that sensation he had hoped he would never be forced to feel again. Powerful, much more powerful than ever before – he had made a mistake in assuming that this Voldemort's power levels would be the same as those of one only newly reborn after being almost completely out of commission for thirteen and a half years. Even buffered by Lily's presence – for it was quite obvious she was bearing the brunt of the spell – he could very easily feel the difference in just the strength of this one spell.

It had taken him a bit longer, then, to regain his senses as he struggled against the tempting peace that he knew in his heart could not – could _never_ – be real, but he managed in time to hear the order that he had _known_ , and feared, that Voldemort would give. In time to feel the body he inhabited moving forward mindlessly … for, indeed, Lily's mind seemed to have totally disconnected from her body; she instead seemed to be quite involved in a dream involving herself, a field of flowers, and, of course, James.

He threw himself against that dream, hoping against hope that he could somehow penetrate and snap her back into sense. Wishing there was something he could do as he found himself trapped, helpless, with no way out. About to murder the one person he had trusted everything to, who was so much more than a mere relation to him. So it would not be his fault … so what? The death would still rest on his conscience, so very heavily …

The way his post-death experiences had been so far, possibly for the rest of eternity …

But Thomas was escaping, dashing into the kitchen. One of the Death Eaters – the one to his right –evidently had hair-trigger nerves; a flash of red light struck the corner of the door only moments after the older man passed through it. _Go._ Harry thought, desperately. _Let_ your _death, at least, be put off until another day. Don't return … please don't do the 'honorable' thing and return …_

Of course, around that point, he remembered something he had previously chosen to forget: the kitchen had no doors that would open to the outside.

Then Thomas was coming back out of the kitchen again, poised in front of wife and other daughter, a broom in his hands.

A broom.

Could it be …?

Indeed, he threw it in Lily's direction; Harry's heart leapt … only to fall to his metaphysical feet when, not having been ordered to, Lily didn't even attempt to reach out, just let the broom bounce off and clatter to the floor. _So close …_ So perhaps he wouldn't be able to effectively stand up to Voldemort either – and certainly not without his wand. At least he wouldn't be so thrice-damned _helpless_!

"What a … deliciously quaint idea." Voldemort's hated voice, as if through an aural fog. "Child, why don't you pick up that broom your father so nicely gave you and kill him with it?"

 _Yes!_ Thomas smiled slightly, and Harry, unconstrained by the need to think about controlling his face, let loose a brilliant grin. _You just screwed yourself over again, m'Lord._

Now that hope was returning, so were ideas. By the time Lily had completed the motion of picking up the broom, Harry already had a plan in place and ready. As soon as he gained control, capitalizing on the confusion his presence caused, Harry swung around, stabbing the Death Eater to his right with the tip of the broom handle as hard as he could – _serves him right, trying to curse_ my _grandfather!_ – causing the man to double over and drop his wand … a wand that Harry was more than happy to pick up.

He knew he couldn't face Voldemort _and_ four Death Eaters, by himself, with any hope at all of winning. Yet how could he call in backup? What backup _could_ he call in, considering that Dumbledore might decide that he had also been 'lying' about his hatred of Voldemort?

And then, of course, it came to him. He remembered the World Cup the previous summer; if people had reacted so quickly _then_ , during a time of supposed _peace_ … Grinning at Voldemort – and hoping the pain flaring from his head didn't distort the expression into too much of a grimace – who was only just beginning to erase the evidence of astonishment in his expression, Harry raised his wand – well, fine, the Death Eater's wand – high.

" _Morsmordre!_ "

"What did you do that for?" Voldemort hissed. "Who _are_ you?"

Despite the far greater power, Harry somehow found it nearly impossible to be afraid of this man who didn't even look like the monster he was inside. His lips twitched. Maybe he could blame the adrenaline. "Hello, I'm Not Stupid. Pleasure to meet you."

Behind him, his heart warmed as he heard Thomas laugh. At least _someone_ had found it funny. Then again … as he watched Voldemort's face grow almost literally fuschia in rage, it occurred to him that that might not have been the brightest idea ever. "Kill him." The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed as he ordered.

 _That_ was going entirely too far. Harry stepped back, crossing his arms defiantly – though he made sure that he kept a firm grip on both wand and broom. It wouldn't do to lose either at this stage in the game. "Over my dead body." He replied coldly. _Let's just ponder the relevance of that statement some other time, okay?_

This made Voldemort laugh. "You think so, do you, boy? _Imperio_."

It was as bad as he had been afraid of … or perhaps worse. Lily, who had only just been beginning to rouse from the daze induced by both the remnants of the Imperius Curse the change had broken and the abrupt change itself, was instantly sent back to dreamland. An interesting effect of the curse, he thought; it was actually rather interesting to see how different people (or at least, _a_ different person) reacted to the curse differently.

He was submerged for a moment, the pull of peace too strong. _But … I knew when I cast that curse that I could be consigning myself to an eternity of unhappiness. I knew that and I accepted it. It would tarnish what I did before if I were to succumb now._ And then Voldemort made his second fatal mistake – ordering Harry to kill Thomas.

 _Like bloody hell I will!_ He came roaring out of the curse, shattering it with a vengeance. Pivoted slowly on his toes to once again face Voldemort. "Like I said. Over. My. Dead. Body."

"That can be arranged."

"I'll see you dead first." Harry smiled calmly. _You're certainly never going to see my dead body . . . and I've already seen you dead once. I'd say that puts me up one, greater power or not._

"A child like you, defeat me? Do you not know who I am, foolish boy?"

Harry smirked. "Oh, I know exactly who you are, Tom Marvolo Riddle."

The man froze. "Who. Are. You?"

"And wouldn't you like to know?"

"Amazing. I never thought the day would come when I again agreed with Mr. Riddle about anything." Dumbledore walked down the stairs, power streaming around him in a tightly controlled aura.

_:He came!:_

Harry closed his eyes briefly. It seemed he had underestimated Lily … he never would have believed that she could hoodwink him so completely. _:How very Slytherin of you, Miss Evans.:_ He lilted, doing his best to mimic Professor Snape at his most disdainful.

 _:Do you think you could hang around a few minutes after you're expelled from my body?:_ She asked sweetly. _:Because as of right now, I'm getting the oddest urge to punch you.:_

"Well, well. What do we have here?" Voldemort looked like he was contemplating rubbing his hands together in maniacal glee. "Is the mysterious child not in good with the Headmaster of Hogwarts? And here I had you pegged for a perfect little Gryffindor Golden Boy."

"Don't worry, Voldemort. My hatred for you _far_ outstrips any distrust I might have for our esteemed Headmaster." A look. "Of course, you must understand that at this point, I trust the Headmaster about as far as I could throw a Bludger."

"Pity. I admire a certain amount of spunk."

Harry let his disgusted expression do the speaking for itself. "I don't suppose it occurred to you to bring along a few Aurors, Headmaster?"

 _:Honestly, what sort of crap reaction time is this? The Dark Mark has been floating in the sky for at_ least _five, ten minutes now.:_

 _:Is_ that _what that incantation you said means? How did you learn it? You really_ are _Dark, aren't you?:_

_:Yes, I heard someone else use it, and no. Grow up, Lily.:_

"Why would I do that? I certainly wasn't expecting you to be entertaining more visitors." Barmy old coot time. Harry and Voldemort shot him identical looks of disgust – possibly the one thing they did agree on.

"So what's your favorite color, Voldemort?" Now it was the Dark Lord and the Headmaster staring at Harry like he was absolutely nuts. He shrugged. "What? Just trying to make conversation."

"You're stalling."

A wintry smile. "What was your first clue? I'd think that would have been the obvious conclusion, after you saw me shoot the Dark Mark."

"So _that_ was your plan. And here I thought you were simply acting like a fool Gryffindor, challenging five powerful adult wizards."

Harry twirled his stolen wand mockingly. "I don't know. I'm just counting four, right now."

"Ingenious. Are you sure you wouldn't consider …?"

_:You're going to become a Death Eater and kill us all!:_

_:Shut UP, Lily.:_

"Let's revise my earlier statement. Over _your_ dead body."

"A pity indeed." Voldemort shrugged. "Well, such is life. Perhaps you ought to remember to factor in the appalling response time of Aurors next time. They usually appear around half an hour after we finish cleaning up … such as we ever do."

Still the wintry smile. "I'll remember that next time."

Voldemort glanced at the clock. "However, it seems that even that oh-so-generous grace period is rapidly winding its way to an end. So with that, I shall bid you adieu."

"You never did tell me your favorite color." Harry interjected swiftly.

"You never did tell me your name, you annoying little brat." Voldemort mocked.

They stared at each other.

Glared. One could almost feel the sparks jumping between their eyes.

"Burgundy." "Harry."

"What, no last name?"

"I don't see you exactly parading your own around, Riddle."

"Touché. Well, Harry, I'm sure I'll see you around."

"Maybe, maybe not. But I can guarantee you won't escape that round nearly as unscathed at this."

"How odd. That was exactly what I was about to say to you."

They shared highly insincere smiles. "I'm looking forward to dancing on your grave, Voldemort."

"In your dreams." And he disappeared. As if they were taking that as a cue, the four Death Eaters Apparated away as well – one of them, Harry noted gleefully, still without his wand.

And, at last, Dumbledore turned his full attention to Harry. Feeling that he had had enough confrontation for one night, the black-haired former-Gryffindor took the easy way out, and let the broom fall.

* * *

In retrospect, Harry admitted, relinquishing control had not been one of the brightest ideas he'd ever had. He'd forgotten – again – that Lily was evidently quite deep in cahoots with Dumbledore as far as he was concerned.

Leading to his current situation: immobilized, one hand trapped around a broomstick so that there was no chance of ducking out again; watching as the Headmaster approached him with a small vial of clear liquid that he would have bet his life was a truth potion of some sort. Veritaserum, perhaps? It did look a lot like the vial Professor Snape had threatened him with earlier in the year.

Well, there was _one_ benefit, at least, to this situation. He waited quietly, knowing he could hardly do anything else, for Dumbledore to finish putting the three droplets on his tongue. Unexpectedly, he felt his mind filling with fog … almost as if it were the Imperius Curse in liquid form, ordering him to tell the truth.

Except this was a variant of the Imperius that he had no experience in, or even idea how to, combat. Still, he hung desperately to those few scraps of his mind he _was_ able to retain, remembering that there was something he had to say. "I … swear …"

But curses, it had come out so faintly that he doubted anyone had heard, and for the life of him he could continue no further than that.

"What was that?" Dumbledore asked.

 _Score!_ For the first time in quite a while, Harry felt a burst of fondness for this Headmaster. "I swear that I mean no serious harm to Hogwarts or any of its inhabitants." He had done it! The thought would have brought a smile to his face, had he not been so far under. _Debate_ that _, you old coot._

"I see. Well, to business. State your name."

"Harry." Another burst of pleasure. He had done it! It certainly wasn't a lie, after all … and he actually saw himself more as Harry than he had ever truly identified himself with this Harry Potter person, so in a way it was actually more truthful than the literal truth.

Somehow, he got the idea that trying to figure out that particular conundrum would make his head hurt even if he wasn't trying to strain to keep as much control of himself as possible and suffering under the lingering remnants of his scar headache.

Dumbledore examined him through narrowed eyes. The twinkle was still there, oddly enough … it only served to focus his expression even further. "Why is it that you are unwilling to tell us your last name?"

"I don't want to." Also perfectly true, and perfectly unhelpful. This stuff, while hard to circumvent, to think through, was not impossible. Harry suspected it was not Veritaserum after all, considering that he had heard that resisting _that_ was completely impossible.

The Headmaster seemed to abandon that tack for the moment. "I have been curious for quite a while … how did you know about the Chamber of Secrets?"

Okay. That was a hard one. "I … in my second year, the Chamber was reopened. I recognized some of the signs." _I_ so _do not need him finding out that I'm a Parselmouth._

"And when you said it was safe again?"

"Oh, that. I took care of the problem."

"That's right … what exactly _was_ that little book you incinerated?" A new voice. Had he not been so doped up on truth potion, Harry would most likely have jumped as Snape leaned forward out of the shadows near the wall. They were not so deep, after all … by all rights, he should have noticed the Slytherin a _long_ time ago.

"A cursed diary containing the memories of Tom Riddle, created, I think, shortly after his opening of the Chamber of Secrets in his fifth year."

"So he was the one who did it!" Dumbledore crowed. "I don't suppose you have any proof?"

"Just my memories … and no, there is no way in hell I'd willingly let you get your hands on them." _The whole Heir to Slytherin debacle … oh yeah, that would go over_ real _well._

"We shall leave that particular conversation for another time, then." The silver-haired old man agreed genially. "Now. You _will_ tell me your full name."

 _No!_ Behind, he thought he could see Snape mouthing 'I'm sorry'; the Slytherin looked the picture of someone unbearably frustrated by their helplessness, and he longed to reassure his (somehow, as strange as it seemed) friend-of-sorts that he did not blame him … it would be foolish to betray his allegiance now, when the shock value might be far more effectively put to use at a later date and when there was, at the moment, nothing he could reasonably do.

_Gee, Harry, are you sure you were put into Gryffindor to begin with? For hardly associating with him at all, this time around, Snape sure seems to have rubbed off on you, hasn't he?_

He could feel his mouth opening and intensified his struggles; there was no _way_ he was going to let his secret slip. Not now, like this, after all the effort he had put into keeping it.

"Harry Ja-" With a final, desperate heave, he wrenched himself up, out, and away. _:_ So _sorry Lily … looks like you won't get that chance to punch my face in after all.:_

And the world surrounding him swirled and disappeared.

This time, when he reappeared in a different place in independent ghost form, he didn't even bother wasting the time to be surprised at the fact that he was once again not quite yet consigned to whatever he assumed would be his eventual, final fate. Instead, he scoped out his surroundings.

The sky was quite dark, in a threatening-rain sort of way; needless to say it fit Harry's current mood rather well. The surroundings shot a thrill of adrenaline through him at first … he wondered if he'd ever again be able to see a graveyard without remembering the events of _that night_. Yet this was not _that_ graveyard, so after a moment he relaxed.

It was a rather morbid thought, he admitted, but he actually felt quite … at peace here. He would not want to remain here forever – he somehow got the idea that he would be violently allergic to peace in too large of doses – but it was a nice respite.

He sank to only a couple of inches above the ground, idly twisting his ring –a shadowy version of which, he had been ecstatic to note, had made the change with him.

Slowly, his eyes focused on the gravestone directly in front of him. Again, it was morbid – he had had enough contact with death firsthand that he really didn't want to add to his pain by knowing about yet another death. Yet … with the gravestone sitting right there in front of him, he found it nearly impossible to _not_ read.

The twisting of his ring slowed to a stop as both hands fell slack to his side; his eyes filled with spectral silvery tears that he refused to shed.

 _Thomas Michael Evans_  
_August 12, 1939 - December 24, 1977_  
_Beloved son, husband, and father_  
_Rest in Peace_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 21 September 2003  
> 8 January 2004  
> 2 October 2011  
> 6 September 2012  
> 19 April 2019


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *checks watch* Two months and a week. Seems like the only thing even my tentative deadlines are good for is breaking … *sweeps shattered remnants under rug* *grins sheepishly*
> 
> Hopefully, I'm on track enough now that this won't happen again … *looks nervously at homework/final projects/finals looming ahead*
> 
> As you might have/will notice, I have once again foregone answering reviews in favor of actually posting this chapter today. I will answer them eventually (and the ones from last chapter, too), but …
> 
> Anyway, since I won't be giving individual responses just yet, a great shout out to all of you! Thank you for your time and patience and I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much as the others.
> 
> Harry Potter does not belong to me.
> 
> (11/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

"Potter?!"

He remembered that voice, though it seemed like years since the last time he had heard it; unlike Dumbledore's, it had changed quite a bit over the years. The pure astonishment in the tone surprised him, on some level – somehow, it had never quite occurred to him that _this_ Snape might have enough of a heart left to care enough to be surprised.

The dichotomy in the way he viewed the Snapes of the different eras he had found himself caught up in, he realized, was outmatched by perhaps only two others: Dumbledore and Wormtail.

Somehow, though he knew that his Dumbledore would most likely have reacted in much the same way as _that_ one, given the way he had been acting … when it came down to it, Harry also knew that _his_ Dumbledore had been there for him all the times that had truly counted; not trusting his Dumbledore would be even more foreign to him than trusting the other would be.

And Wormtail … there was literally no comparison. Peter was a good person, through and through; gentle but fierce when provoked by what he saw as slights to his friends or injustice of any sort. _Wormtail_ … he still couldn't think that name without an accompanying rush of hatred; he had effectively completely dissociated the two.

"Professor Snape?" He mimicked back tiredly. "Why are you here?" He finally looked up, in time to catch the odd spectacle of the Potion Master making an abortive movement of some kind before, with a resigned expression on his face, he sank to the ground. _That_ provoked a thrill of déjà vu down Harry's spine, as it was almost exactly the same motion a younger Severus had used in an out-of-order girls' bathroom … it seemed a lifetime ago.

"Still as spoiled as ever, I see, forcing me to sit down so that I can see your face." Snape grumbled. A long pause. "… I came to apologize." He inclined his head towards a rather larger headstone off to the left of Thomas', the ground before it bare except for the well-cut grass that grew everywhere, and a small beige urn.

_James and Lily Potter_

"Feeling guilty because you failed to save my life this time?"

"Thank you for rubbing it in, _Potter_."

Harry twitched. "That's not what I meant. I was trying to get you to see that you were being foolish." He rolled his eyes. "Come on, Professor, be happy! The worst you have to worry about now is trying to cram a suitable knowledge of Potions into hundreds of snotty little brats' brains."

Suddenly, he had a picture of himself trying to convince Lily that you really could fight the Imperius Curse, and how she had just shrugged him off. Okay, so yes, he _was_ younger and (supposedly) less knowledgeable than her, but still … "On second thought, Professor … I'm sorry I killed Voldemort so soon. I'm sure you would have enjoyed the break."

That startled a bark of laughter out of him, and Harry grinned in response. _There_ , another bit of the young Severus glinting through for a moment. "Sarcasm, Potter? I never would have thought you capable of it."

And as quickly as that, it was gone. "You don't seem to have ever thought that much where I was concerned." His voice took on a mocking lilt. "Potter's son – and obviously just exactly like him, too. Gryffindor. Famous. Snotty brat and spoiled beyond belief – _must_ be, after all. Excuse me while I go save his life … _again_."

" _Potter_ …"

"For heaven's sake, Professor, could you _please_ not call me that? If it just hurts your sensibilities too too much to call me Harry, then just call me 'Boy' or something." His lips twitched as he caught another sudden stray memory. "Of course, I answer to such gems as 'evil raving maniac spirit', too, if that's more to your taste?"

* * *

"Did you know that man is your grandfather?"

Harry bit his lip, trying to use the physical pain to push back the emotions threatening to batter down all his carefully built walls. Again. "Yes." He said quietly, holding his hand a little bit above the headstone, pretending for a moment that he was touching it. "Yes, I did."

"He was … a very good man. It's a pity you never had a chance to get to know him." Snape offered awkwardly, in deference to the obvious, if somewhat hard to understand, grief that the young boy felt.

"Yes." Harry agreed, his voice still soft and distant. _So few days … what went wrong? Voldemort was routed, at least temporarily; surely Mr. Evans would have been sensible enough to relocate elsewhere for a while … and Lily came back to Hogwarts …_

"He … died well."

Harry's head snapped up. "You were there?!" He could not hide the shock in his voice.

Something indefinable passed across the man's face. He reached over to put his right hand over the underside of his left forearm. Harry pulled his legs up underneath him until he floated, cross-legged, about two feet above the ground, and tried his hardest to hide the pang of disappointment he felt upon learning that his conjectures had, in fact, been proven correct. "Is it even there anymore? Now that Voldemort is gone?"

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about." Snape replied, suddenly stiffening; his hand moving smoothly down his arm almost as if he had been only brushing lint off his sleeves, nothing more.

"Well, I think it's pretty obvious that _Lily_ didn't invite you home with her." Harry inserted bitingly.

The older man gave him a strange look. "What are you babbling about now, boy? Evans stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas that year. I should know; the hysterics Potter went into when she accepted his proposal were impossible for anyone to miss." A sneer.

Harry snickered. Then fell solemn. "Still, wasn't it even just a bit nice, to know that people could still fall in love and be happy together, after the death you endured the night before?"

A twist of the lips. "Hardly. It just reminded my even more starkly how different I was." Then, frozen, turning to Harry. "How did you know that Potter proposed on Christmas Day?"

 _At least he wasn't quite oblivious enough to ask how I knew he saw my grandfather die on Christmas Eve, when he practically said as much himself. Even if he then blatantly attempted to deny it a moment later._ A facial expression that blurred the line between a smile and a smirk. "Well, when one is being threatened with excessive mayhem should one dare to tell said object of affections what he was planning, it tends to stick in one's mind."

Surprise. "You somehow … how on Earth …" Snape seemed to be undergoing some very great internal conflict. Finally, he offered, "You must have been … glad … to get to know your father …" His scowl was now extra fierce, as if to fend off even the idea that he might be being even slightly sympathetic toward a _Gryffindor_.

Harry shrugged. "Not really. He's just about as big a prat as you always said he was." Taking advantage of the fact that Snape was about as close to gaping in utter shock as that impassive expression would go, he raised his eyes to the man's cheekbones. "Tell me, sir … why are you trying to be so … well … _nice_ to me? Not that it's not appreciated …"

The man looked pained. "I have recently seen things that gave me the impression that I should … reconsider … my previous attitude towards you."

 _He watched me die and thinks he now knows me because of it._ A burst of anger shot him to standing position. "Thank you for the sentiments, Professor, but I never needed your pity before and I sure as hell don't need it now."

"Potter …"

In the act of turning around, Harry whirled back. "It's _Harry_." He snarled.

In one smooth motion, as graceful and deadly as a striking serpent, Snape rose to his feet; even floating above ground to the point where he was once again at eye (or at least cheekbone-) level, Harry was unable to shake the older man's truly intimidating presence. "The last time I noticed, _Potter_ , your name was still Harry _Potter_."

He glared challengingly (and how much _easier_ this would be, if he could just _look_ at the man …). "Got any bright ideas on how to change that, _Professor_?"

"Two, offhand, actually." He could almost feel the sneer sliding across his skin. "Don't tell me _you_ can't think of any."

"Well … in the Muggle world if you're of age, I think there's some place you can go to and fill out some sort of paperwork to get your name changed … but that's not really feasible, since even if I wasn't sort of _dead_ , I wouldn't be of age yet anyway …"

"… I never thought I'd be saying this to you, Potter, but stop thinking so hard."

This, Harry decided, was probably his cue to close his mouth. In a Snape-ish sort of way, of course … but he found that even the sharper edges on this Snape's comments didn't bother him _quite_ as much as they used to (most of the time) … it was just the way Snape was. So he quieted, and patiently (as patiently as he could, at least) waited for whatever it was that Snape would be saying next.

"The wizarding world does not have that sort of office, although there are some wizards who make use of the Muggle equivalent. But I was talking about simpler, more feasible methods: adoption or renunciation."

He had taken on a lecturing tone that, Harry was amused to note, bore a certain resemblance to Hermione's when she had latched on particularly hard to a subject. "Both of which, obviously, are somewhat complicated by the fact that you are dead – though the fact that you are still visible will be of some help."

"I'm not, to most people." Harry informed Snape. "And, anyway, who would want to adopt a ghost?"

Did Snape's lips just _twitch_?! "There are some people …" he began carefully "… especially those among the lower levels of wizarding nobility … who have picked up on the lamentable Muggle idea that an agéd family manor, in addition to being cold, drafty, and dark, simply _must_ " a nicely contemptuous twist to that "have a ghost or two inhabiting the halls."

Harry, still possessing many of the Muggle attitudes he had absorbed – even despite the fact that ghosts, being 'abnormal', had been yet another taboo topic in the Dursley household – nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. I don't think I'd fit the role too well, though. Too old for a tragic childhood accident, a bit young for the star-crossed lovers bit, and too clean for most other excuses – one really needs an artful spattering of blood here and there to pull the ghost thing off well, or if not that, at least _something_ gruesome, like Nearly Headless Nick's trick." That gained him another twitch of the lips, even if Snape did not deign to answer any further than that.

"Ah, but do you have any idea just _how_ many people would be simply dying to get their hands on Harry Potter?"

"…" Harry gave Snape's cheekbones a pointed Look. "… okay, adoption's definitely out, then."

"… Just exactly why are you so eager to escape the Potter name?" A smirk. "Not that I blame you …"

"Yes, yes, insert scathing insult directed at all who willingly bear the name Potter here." Harry said dismissively, then gave the question the attention it truly deserved. Why _did_ he want to escape it?

There was the obvious – it would finally put an end to the Headmaster's questioning, as he could not admit to a last name that he no longer had (and there was _probably_ a way to work the legalities such that he could truthfully manage to avoid mentioning even what his last name _had_ been). It would be a relief, to escape from the weight of expectations he felt descending on himself whenever he attempted – increasingly less frequently, this days – to reassume the mantle of that particular name.

He would not have to bear the inevitable insincerity as James and Lily decided that, well, since he was their son, he obviously couldn't be as bad as they had thought he was … Sirius trying to reconcile his (Harry was sure) conviction of the 'darkness' of Harry with the _obvious_ , and equally obviously 'untaintable' Light orientation of the Potter family …

Remus and Peter, he thought, wouldn't react too badly, but even with them, there would be changes. They'd build expectations, unconsciously associating him with the other boy who, as far as Harry could tell, shared nothing more than a name and an interest in Quidditch with him.

… or the equally inevitable complete collapse of anything even remotely resembling congenial relations with the boy who might someday become the man now standing in front of him, waiting unexpectedly patiently for his answer. Snapes and Potters don't mix, any more than Potters and Malfoys, or Malfoys and Weasleys do. Bill and Claudius might have been able to work past that barrier, but probably not without a great deal of heartache and misunderstandings and setbacks.

It seemed vanishingly unlikely that he and Snape would be so lucky as to build even half as good a friendship, not with Snape blinded by the Potter name as he inevitably would be. He was one of the few who had never questioned Harry's reluctance to reveal his last name, simply waiting, Harry felt, until he came to him and released the information willingly. This was one friendship that would be hurt, Harry thought, inestimably more by the airing of that secret than it would be by the knowledge that that secret was being kept.

He liked his relations with the people in the past the way they were now, Dumbledore's suspicion and James' and Lily's and Sirius' hostility notwithstanding. And he very much did _not_ want things to change. Remus would probably be the first to put two and two together and start questioning just how he survived when Voldemort came and killed James and Lily – it had probably been a mistake, letting that information come to light, but he could not find it in himself to wholly regret it.

So with Harry Potter, would come Harry-Potter-The-Boy-Who-Lived. He was tired, _so_ tired of that title … these days, even with the constant need to watch himself lest he reveal more than was wise, had been worth it if only for the freedom he had been given. He was not opposed to helping bring down Voldemort, far from it, as his hatred for the man had, if anything, grown …

… but oh, how nice it had been to be making that decision of his own free will, instead of doing so because he was _expected_ to, because it was his _Destiny_.

A cleared throat brought him back down to Earth … or as close as he could get in this state … as he noted, slightly guiltily, that Snape was still waiting. "A variety of reasons, Professor. If they knew, they'd see me as something and someone I'm not …"

Inadvertently, his eyes slid upward.

* * *

Transfiguration homework. On Severus' list of things of interesting things to spend his time on, transfiguration homework was … oh, right, it had never made it onto the list in the first place.

Having his own desk made things immeasurably better – his own desk, and lights that he could turn up however bright he wished without having to worry about bothering Rodolphus, who had always, in the seven years they had known each other, indulged in the habit of taking a midafternoon nap just around the time Severus usually set aside for homework.

… he learned after the first few times that Rodolphus could not sleep with any considerable amount of light on, even when the curtains to his bed were mostly closed. More to the point, he learned that a Rodolphus woken from his nap by light that wasn't supposed to be there was not a happy Rodolphus. And that hexes thrown by an unhappy Rodolphus were of the more painful variety, more powerful, and harder to dodge.

Needless to say, up until getting his own room after being made prefect in his fifth year, he had quickly gotten into the habit of doing his homework down in the common room. And after that – Slytherins were not _Gryffindor_ by any stretch of the imagination, but their common room was still respectably busy – having his own, _quiet_ place to work bordered on heaven.

Though he would not have minded being back in the common room just now … it would give him more of an excuse to be distracted into not working on the dreaded Transfiguration assignment.

A flickering out of the corner of his eye; he put down the quill he had been absentmindedly stroking (once again reminding himself to look into getting rid of that particular habit) to look more carefully in the direction from which the flicker had come.

There it was again. With a jolt – the world seemed to flash, or swirl, or maybe just fuzz out – a familiar outline sketched itself out against the backdrop of the rest of his sitting room. A ghostly Harry opened his mouth. "I'm tired, Professor. Maybe you were right all along and I'm just being a spoiled brat about this, but I'm tired of everyone thinking they know me just because they know my last name."

Contemplatively, Severus noted, "So that's why you've made such an effort to hide it …"

Again the world seemed to shudder as the ghostly image filled with color and dropped with a thud those last few inches to the floor. Wincing slightly, Harry reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, revealing briefly that strange lightning-shaped scar. "Well that was … an experience. Severus? Was that you?"

 _Oh, right_. Severus kept forgetting that his definition of a 'decent' amount of light was significantly different than that of most people. Feeling slightly foolish, like some third-rate villain reduced to party tricks to keep up appearances, he waved his wand to raise the lights.

"Yes, it's me."

"Huh." The other boy's eyes went unfocused. "That's strange … I can't feel anyone else in my head …" He shook the aforementioned appendage. " _That's_ never happened to me, coming back, before …"

"Where do you go when you leave?" Severus asked, curious.

"Oh … back to where I came from originally. Not many people can see me there, though … as far as I can tell, it's just those who I've spent a significant time around here." He began ticking names off his fingers. "You, Dumbledore, Sirius, Remus … Wormtail and Voldemort probably could too …"

Raised eyebrow. "You've spent a significant amount of time around the Dark Lord? Going dark on us after all?"

Harry seemed about to glare, then thought better of it. "I'll just going to pretend that that was supposed to be a spectacularly unfunny joke and move on, shall I? We've met."

Severus pursed his lips. _Now when …_ Suddenly, he had it. "The Dark Lord attacked Evans' house?! No wonder the Headmaster evacuated the rest of the family as well …"

Suddenly Harry was leaning against the desk, acting as if only the barest sliver of remaining self-control was keeping him from reaching over and grabbing Severus by the collar. "They're here? Safe? _Alive?_ "

Another quirk of the eyebrow, somewhat quizzical. "Well, of course. Where else would they be?"

* * *

"Mr. Evans!" The auburn-haired man had barely directed his gaze toward the door before he was rocked backwards on his feet by a short dark-haired projectile. In the doorway, another young man stood in the robes denoting a Hogwarts student – and, curious beyond curious, with a green-and-silver patch on said robes that Thomas was almost certain denoted Slytherin, the notoriously anti-Muggle House – even darker hair hanging lankly around a carefully expressionless face.

"Harry?" He detached the boy with rather more difficulty than he had expected, pushing him back to get a good look. The eyes, so similar to and yet so different from his daughter's, seemed more luminous than ever, almost as if they were hiding … tears? "Hey now, what's there to cry about?"

Slippery as a snake, the boy somehow managed to find a way to writhe back inwards, burying his head against Thomas' shoulder once again. "I was so afraid … I thought you'd _died_."

"What would give you that idea? That nice old man, Dumbledore? – anyway, he brought us all back to Hogwarts with Lily, said we weren't safe in our old neighborhood anymore. Now, what made you think I had died?"

"Well … the gravestone next to Lily and James' with your name on it and a death date of Christmas Eve 1977 was … somewhat discouraging." A bit of humor, dark though it might have been, was beginning to creep back into his voice. He turned to look at the older boy, contemplatively it seemed. "You weren't there, were you."

The black-clad young man straightened – even taller and more rimrod straight than he had been before – affronted. "No! You ought to know me better than that by now, Harry. I _wouldn't_."

A smile. "I thought I did. I'm glad I was right."

"What are you doing here, Harry?" His lips twitched. "You haven't usurped my daughter's body again, have you?" He tried to sound stern, truly he did …

A quick shake of the head. "I don't know. I just … appeared in Severus' room. And as far as I can tell, I'm alone in my head." He began fiddling with the ring Thomas had given him, twisting it this way and that before firmly stilling his hands. "And if I was in anyone's head, I'd be in Severus' … I think. If it's working the way it seemed to be before …"

"Severus? Is that …" Thomas nodded to the doorway, only to blink in astonishment at what he saw.

The dark-haired young man was gone.

* * *

_:Okay, no offense Harry, but whatever you did … undo it_ now _. Please.:_

_:Severus?!:_

_:No, the Easter Bunny. Of course it's me. Notice anyone else missing?:_

Harry turned. Sure enough … _:When did that happen?:_

Stressed. _:If I knew, do you think I'd be asking_ you _?:_

 _:Well, the only way_ I _know of to switch bodies is by looking into someone's eyes – and if I'm here, I need to be wishing extra hard to get away too. I think. And my_ back _was to you!:_

_:Sure that was wise? Slytherins aren't known as 'backstabbing' for nothing, you know …:_

_:Oh, please. You may be Slytherin on the outside, but in your own screwy way you're as loyal as a Hufflepuff and far more honor-bound than some Gryffindors I can think of …:_

_:… I think I'm insulted.:_

"Harry?"

The black-haired boy blinked. "Sorry? I didn't catch that."

"I just called you three times. You were pretty out of it. I assume your friend is now stuck in your head?"

Harry nodded shortly. "And he's being _terribly_ gracious about it, too." He drawled, grinning. For that he got an _:Oi!:_ and … well, the closest he could come to describing it was a vigorous mental poke … from the Slytherin in question and a highly amused look from the man standing in front of him.

"And I'm sure the first time you found yourself stuck in someone else's body you were all sweetness and light."

The look thrown his way was full of injured innocence. "But of course. Have I ever been anything but?"

"I seem to remember a certain someone trading quips with a certain Dark Lord in such a way that did not strike me as terrible conducive to said certain someone's continued existence …"

"It's um … well, not exactly habit, but …" He shrugged. "There's only so much cowering in abject fear a person can do." He whistled. "I was surprised at just how powerful he is, though … I only just barely managed to roll his Imperius Curse." A small, somewhat shy smile. "I might not have managed it, if he hadn't been ordering me to do something I objected so strongly to."

 _:… You can do_ what _?!:_

Thomas frowned. "Oh dear. Too strong, do you think?"

Harry made a face. "There's not much one can do against the curse I used on him. But I'm dead now, so I'm not sure how it would work if I tried again … and I'm certainly not going to risk consigning my host to the same sort of odd limbo I'm living in. No one deserves that."

"Except you?" The older man inquired mildly.

Harry shot him a suspicious look. " I … that's different."

Severus thought that was harsh, rather cruel, and completely untrue, but seeing how close Harry was to agreeing, came to the conclusion that the man knew that and was just trying to get Harry to see it too. So he redirected the conversation, hoping that would allow the younger boy's subconscious to stew over the idea a bit. _:Hello? Stranded Slytherin minus a body here …:_

Harry jumped and blushed; he was ashamed to realize that he had completely forgotten for a moment there that Severus even existed; what if he had said something …?

"The Slytherin …?"

Harry smiled, proud of his grandfather for remembering. "Severus Snape. Yeah, he's a bit … annoyed."

With the air of someone who had suddenly remembered his manners, Thomas waved Harry to take a seat. "Well, let's see if we can reconstruct this properly. What does your friend know?"

 _:Nothing.:_ Was Severus' succinct answer, nearing a snarl. _:You and Evans' father were talking one moment and then suddenly *poof!* I was inside your head.:_ In a slightly more good-natured tone, _:At least there's plenty of room up here …:_

 _:Oi …:_ Harry did his best to sound injured. "He doesn't know anything, Mr. Evans." A stern look. "… Thomas."

Thomas nodded. "So that means, whatever happened was either totally unassociated with you, or it happened in front of you, where Mr. Snape couldn't see."

"Good point, but …" Harry gestured with one hand. "That still leaves a lot that it could have been."

"Your hands." Thomas raised his own left hand. "I noticed, you were twisting your ring around that time. Mostly because I have that same habit."

He looked down at said appendages, then back up at Thomas, doubtful. "So you really think me twisting my ring is the trigger?"

 _:Even if it's not, would it really hurt to try?:_ Severus pointed out, somewhat impatient. _:Just do it already.:_

Sheepishly, and feeling more than a little self-conscious, Harry bent his head and began twisting his ring, his fingers moving in the already familiar motions, familiar enough as to be almost automatic. _:Is it working …?:_

 _:I don't …:_ Severus began.

"– Seems so." A voice resonating in more than just his head corrected. Harry turned and smiled … and Severus, just for a moment, seemed like he was beginning to smile back.

That faded, of course, as he drew himself up. "Now, Harry, you know I mean this in the kindest way possible … but … please, don't _ever_ do that again."

* * *

Remus Lupin slumped in his chair, trying desperately to stay, if not truly awake, at least coherent enough to take decent notes. If anyone asked him, he'd swear up one side and down the other that he loved History of Magic – perhaps not quite as much as Defense, but he still found the subject far from uninteresting.

Yet … for some reason … whenever he entered this classroom, as soon as Professor Binns began to speak he immediately began drifting off, no matter how hard he tried.

Movement out of the corner of his eye; a slip of paper fluttered to rest on his desk, its impact so soft only a werewolf could have heard. Curious, he turned it over and unfolded it. _Now_ he was awake.

_Lupin –_

_Come to my room after lunch. Bring Pettigrew with you._

_Password is a mutual friend of ours._

– _S_

Simple. Direct. To the point. And completely incomprehensible. 'Snape' and 'passing notes during class' were a word and a phrase that he had _never_ expected to be using in the same sentence. They were simply completely incompatible. (Kinda like 'Remus Lupin' and 'receiving notes during class'? a small part of him mocked.)

Slowly, inexorably, his gaze shifted over to the Slytherin, one of the very few who had actually bothered to stay in NEWTS level History of Magic (in his sleepier moments, he sometimes wondered why even he had bothered. Then he woke up and reminded himself that he liked the subject. Truly). Momentarily, their eyes met.

And Snape raised a questioning eyebrow, his face irritatingly blank.

Remus looked back down at the desk and the note sitting oh-so-innocently on top of it. He already knew what he was going to do, and he knew it was probably foolish. Oh well.

_Damn my curiosity anyway …_

* * *

"… Has anyone told you lately that you're sweet?"

Severus whirled from the path he had been relentlessly pacing for the last five, ten minutes to glare ferociously at Harry. "I am a Slytherin, I am a Snape, and I am spiteful by nature. I don't _do_ sweet."

"So what do you call inviting them to come see me?"

"Screwing with Lupin's mind just to see if he'll be stupid or confused enough to actually follow my directions." Severus answered – _too_ promptly.

"Well, if you're just screwing with his mind, then you obviously don't expect either him or Peter to come, and thus you're worrying about a big fat load of nothing."

"I'm not worrying."

"So sit down and … I don't know … finish your Transfiguration essay or something."

"But I hate Transfiguration …"

"And stop whining."

"I do _not_ whine!"

To his credit, Harry _almost_ managed to maintain his straight face. Severus raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're a Gryffindor?"

Harry pretended to consider this. "Well … that's what the Hat said …"

A snort. "Pity."

"… Yeah, it said that too …"

In the act of sitting down, Severus paused and looked at Harry, suspicious. The corporeal ghost simply knitted his hands behind his back and smiled innocently. Another, softer snort and Severus sat down fully, shaking his head. "… probably wanted to stick you in Hufflepuff." He shot off.

The innocence did not waver. "But of course. Where else?"

Shaking his head and hiding his own growing amusement, Severus reluctantly pulled said essay towards himself, waving in Harry's direction absentmindedly. "They should be here in a couple of minutes. Just … occupy yourself with something until then. Try not to destroy anything."

"Yes sir." Harry rolled his eyes and threw a mock salute, wandering over to the bookshelf to see if Severus had anything _interesting_ to read. Surely there was _something_ here other than Potions texts …

The young man in question, in the mean time, had begun once again the process of trying to get into the _fascinating_ procedure necessary to change an aardvark into an afghan. Yeah. Absolutely fascinating. He was on the edge of his seat in anticipation.

_Okay, less sarcasm, more work …_

He ran his fingers along the edges of the quill in his own private calming, focusing ritual. _Come on … you can do this. It's only Transfiguration …_ The problem was not that he was hopeless at Transfiguration – no matter what Potter and his crew liked for people to think – he just had no use for the subject and thus had a notoriously hard time convincing himself to actually try hard enough to do more than the minimal. Then as though in answer to his desires, a distraction manifested itself.

"Well?" His head snapped, disoriented for a moment by the fact that two of the Marauders were in _his room_. Then he returned to Earth as he remembered that he had not only given them the password to his rooms, he had made a point of changing the password to something that he could allude to that was obvious enough that they'd be able to guess it.

"Well what?" He stood.

"What did you want us here for?" Pettigrew said slowly, eyes darting around the room nervously.

Gryffindors. "I had thought that would be obvi –" he turned.

Harry was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 27 November 2003  
> 9 January 2004  
> 9 September 2012  
> 19 April 2019


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> … Well. Over a month again, but not quite so badly this time. RL decided to suddenly be far more demanding, I didn't study nearly as much for finals as I should but found plenty of ways to waste time anyway, lost all muse for this story for several weeks (but it's back! ^^) and … yeah. Sorry.
> 
> Two things to note: I survived my first semester in college! And came out a great deal more on top than I was expecting.
> 
> Aaand … 600 + reviews. That boundary has now been broken, for the first time in my history of writing stories. To think, just a year ago, this story was just something I tossed out to the crowd to provide myself with a little variety every now and then … Congratulations and a large chunk of thanks to everyone who's helped me make it this far. ^^
> 
> (11/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

_:Oh bloody hell.:_ The voice was more resigned than anything … and, more importantly, a very familiar one. Inside his head.

Severus silently echoed the sentiment, though of course, as a Slytherin, he had his dignity to maintain and would never be caught actually _voicing_ such a crudity.

Things far more crude and obscene, yes. And the generally accompanying hexes, yes, those too.

"Well ….?" Lupin again, sounding more than a little impatient.

"One moment." He closed his eyes and thought furiously. What could have caused this?

 _:My back was turned.:_ Harry volunteered.

Of course.

In something of a haze, he made his way back to his desk, sitting down and looking at all that resided there. _:I was sitting just like this …:_ His eyes darted up. No, that hadn't been the trigger. Still no Harry, although he had actually known that before his eyes corroborated it; now that he knew the feeling, he could easily identify the Harry-presence that still resided in his head. _:Thinking about Transfiguration …:_

"Snape, if this is just a joke …"

"Shut it, Lupin! I'm thinking!"

_:And how rotten Potter and his group are …:_

_:… Present company excepted, of course?:_ Harry prodded.

Severus grunted. _:What else …:_ To soothe his frustration, he began toying with the quill sitting on top of said Transfiguration assignment. Which had splotched said assignment when a certain werewolf had interrupted his train of thought. Which meant he'd probably have to rewrite the damn thing. Stupid …

"Ha! It's the quill!" A triumphant voice said.

One outside his head.

"Harry?" Lupin and Pettigrew asked in unison.

"In the flesh." The boy grinned. "Or as close as I can get, at least. Sorry for that … we were experiencing a few … technical difficulties."

"Where have you been? Are you okay? I heard you were interrogated, I can't _believe_ the Headmaster would do something like that –" Lupin, Severus decided with a well-hidden smirk, was babbling. It was good to know that he was not the only one Harry provoked that reaction in.

Harry shrugged sheepishly. "How long was I gone this time? It seemed like only … I dunno … five minutes or so to me."

Severus busied himself with re-sharpening his quill – being careful not to do anything that might be considered toying with it – leaving the Gryffindors to their reunion. That did not, of course, keep him from making the occasional logical contribution. "Much like the other times – at least as far as I am aware – you were gone about a month. Today is February 5th."

Harry nodded his thanks. "I don't have any control over where or when I go when I travel. Well, certainly not conscious …" He frowned, a bit troubled. "This last time, it might have been my worrying over what had happened to Mr. Evans …"

Sensing this was a bit of a touchy subject, Peter asked gently, "Where did you end up?"

A wry smile. "In front of a grave that claimed he had died that night."

"So _that's_ why you nearly strangled me when I told you he was still alive." Severus' eyes widened, then narrowed again. "Wait a second … that other thing you said … the other me was …?"

Harry nodded. "He let slip as much, when I met him in the graveyard."

"What was he … I … Merlin, this is confusing … doing there?"

Harry rubbed his forehead with one hand, shaking his head ruefully. "It's … something of a long story. Basically, he owed a life debt to my father that he had not repaid by the time my father died, so since then, he's taken it upon himself to try and keep me out of trouble. He was there in the graveyard to apologize to my parents for failing me." As an afterthought, "He had an urn with him; I bet that was my ashes. I wonder, did the spell disintegrate me, or was I just cremated after the fact …?"

All three had turned slightly green, but it was Remus who spoke. "No offense, Harry, but … dealing with the fact that you're dead is hard enough to believe – especially at times like these, when you _are_ , to all intents and purposes, still alive. I _really_ don't need to hear the details."

A sad smile. "You get used to the idea relatively quickly, I find. Of course, I probably would have had a harder time, had I gone on to some sort of _real_ afterlife, instead of this strange limbo as a result of that spell." Suddenly fierce, with a grin that approached vicious. "And even if I had ended up in some _real_ limbo … or in the worst incarnation of the Christian Hell … it would have been worth it still, to rid the world of _him_."

"But … couldn't someone else have taken care of him?" Peter asked. "You're only … what, fourteen? I'm as eager as anyone to do my part in the war … but as a fourteen-year-old, you _couldn't_ have been expected …" He trailed off, transfixed by the odd look on the spirit's face.

Pity? Harry shook his head. "Oh, I don't doubt that they expected me to have graduated Hogwarts, and gained a far greater body of knowledge, maybe even have done something horribly cliché like becoming an Auror, before finally downing Voldemort. But … even if no one's come right out and said it, I've always known that his death was my responsibility, if only through their expectations."

"That's a load _no one_ should have to bear." Peter angrily responded; Severus silently echoed both the sentiment and the anger, but found, himself, the worst part to be that Harry had _accepted_ this fate so calmly.

 _:I first encountered the Wizarding World when I was eleven; there's very little I_ wouldn't _have done, to keep that magic, to be able to stay. Besides … who better than I?:_

_:An adult!:_

_:With a wife, children … family to look after? I'm an orphan, Severus … and I would not wish that lack of family on_ anyone _.:_

_:But … look at what you lost …:_

_:And what everyone else in my world gained. Peace, Severus. I'm sure you wish it just as much as the rest of us.:_ The spirit turned, from Remus, to Peter, finally pinning Severus with an emerald gaze both joyous and sorrowful. _:And just see what_ I _have gained. The chance to see you all, alive, well, happy …:_

"I feel like I'm missing something." Peter directed towards Remus in an aside.

As if hearing audible voices again had flipped some sort of switch, as Harry made his grand gesture, he began speaking aloud. "These are the best years of your life, you know. Before _you_ are thrown into the war, only slightly less of children than I; before distance and strife and mistrust and betrayal and death separate you all … it is truly the most precious gift I could have been given, to see you all in this time and place."

And it would have not been terribly surprising if, at this time, all three seventh-years, separated so widely by House and race, yet brought together by the changes this young man had wrought, had thought the exact same thought. _And our most precious gift … is you._

* * *

"When I heard Black went Seeker that one game … that was you, wasn't it?" With the Marauders' help, Severus had finally given in and conjured up a trio of comfortable chairs, set to form a rough square (with Severus' desk as the final corner), and quite happily abandoned any attempt at even seeming to be working on his assignments.

Remus looked over, nodding at Severus' question. "I admit, it didn't really seem his style … I'm not entirely sure he _could_ find the Snitch."

Harry chortled. "And he is such a _total_ wuss as far as dives are concerned. He'd _never_ make it as a decent Seeker; end up losing his nerve or splattering himself all over the ground within the first season."

"I take that as a yes?" Peter offered dryly. Then, as the only one who had actually attended the entire match, "That was some sweet flying, though I wasn't quite sure what he – you – whatever – was doing for about the first half of the match."

Harry looked wistful. "Are you kidding? That's the first time I've been on a broom for a significant period of time since … February? Four months or so ago, for me … and that wasn't recreational flying by any stretch of the imagination."

Peter blinked. "Wait … don't you play Quidditch? I thought the season usually runs longer than that …"

Harry smiled, proud. "Have for three years now – not counting this past year, since the Quidditch Cup was canceled."

"You joined the Quidditch team in your _first year_?" Remus, aghast. "But … there are rules against that sort of thing! McGonagall would never …"

"Yet she did." Harry grinned. "Just sick of seeing Slytherin win so often, I guess."

Severus looked suddenly very smug.

"Of course, they never won after I joined the team … I only lost once, and that was to Hufflepuff."

So what if Peter was the only one of the three who followed Quidditch to any extent; they all found this prospect equally horrifying. " _Hufflepuff_?!"

"He was very apologetic afterwards … that was one of the matches that was sabotaged."

_Only a Hufflepuff would apologize for winning …_

Severus leaned back in his chair, taking upon himself the task of attempting to bring this conversation back to some semblance of a topic. "So exactly why was the Quidditch Cup canceled? I'd think that was nearly as blasphemous as getting rid of the House Cup."

 _:They wanted to turn the pitch into a giant maze for the Third Task …:_ Harry was surprised to realize how long it had been since he had thought about the events of that night, and felt guilty immediately about allowing his own death and the events following it to overshadow … Cedric … _:I wonder if anyone has brought his body home … he deserved that much, at least …:_

"Third Task of what?" Severus asked, but Harry only stood silently and slipped out of the room.

"What are you talking about, Snape?" Remus asked. "No one mentioned – "

"Harry just said …" Severus said blankly. "Your sort is supposed to have amazing hearing, Lupin, don't tell me I'm the only one who heard. He just said that the pitch was used … to grow a giant maze …"

"For the 'third task'?" Peter offered.

"So you heard!" Snape grasped the offering with relief.

"Actually, no, I didn't." Peter shrugged. "It was just the logical conclusion."

* * *

It was – not too terribly surprisingly – the Quidditch pitch that Remus' nose eventually led him to; one of the highest stands that gave the person seated there an almost bird's-eye view of the surroundings. It worried him more than he cared to admit that Harry – usually in a state of near-Slytherin paranoid awareness as far as his surroundings were concerned – had not seemed to mark his approach the slightest bit.

Finally, he reached the top, and seated himself next to the spirit. Still no movement; Harry continued to sit there, chin resting on folded hands, staring blankly into the distance. "Hey," Remus greeted quietly. "Are you all right?"

In a flat voice, "I'm fine."

"What's wrong? You look like someone died or something." Remus attempted a joking tone.

A wry smile. "Which period of my life are you referring to?"

Blink. "Well … recently … I guess."

"Three people, including myself. Me, Voldemort, and Cedric Diggory. The Hufflepuff Seeker who's the only one who's ever beat me to the Snitch."

"Cedric … sounds vaguely familiar." The werewolf's brow furrowed. "Oh, that's right … you mentioned him briefly once before. What happened?"

Another wry smile, this one with more of an edge. "I was a stupid Gryffindor. If only I had acted more like a Slytherin, for once … instead of insisting that we share the Cup … then I would have gone on to face _him_ alone, and Cedric would still be alive …"

"The Cup?"

"Triwizard Tournament Cup." Harry explained in a weary tone. "Reaching it was supposed to be the goal of the Third Task. I assume it wasn't _meant_ to be a portkey to Voldemort's home base …"

"But the Triwizard Tournament was outlawed _ages_ ago, due to too many contestant fatalities! What on Earth were _you_ doing as part of one?" Remus waved a hand grandly. "Has the world 20 years in the future gone bloody _insane_?!"

"There was an age limit. Seventeen." Harry offered. "… Come to think of it, I bet that was a setup, too … me being entered, I mean."

"Well then, why did you participate in the first place? If you weren't the one who submitted your name, it can't possibly have been legally binding. _Especially_ not if you didn't meet all the guidelines to begin with."

"It was an unbreakable Wizarding Contract – or something like that. I _had_ to participate." Suddenly he laughed. "As Professor Snape would say, it's not like I've ever paid attention to rules anyway." He stood up, sneering. "Arrogant, rude brat, with _no_ regard at all for the rules … _just_ like his father!"

Remus choked back a chuckle. "Sounds like he hated your father – and you by association, I assume – almost as much as he hates James and Sirius."

There was an arrested look on Harry's face, as if that statement had somehow blindsided him. He recovered quickly, however, saying blandly (with a hint of hidden humour that Remus didn't quite understand the source of), "I think that would be a pretty safe bet."

Remus stood too. "Feeling a bit better now? Ready to come back inside?"

That brought Harry back down into his former position post haste. "Not really." He muttered. "You see? You did it again." He paused for a deep breath. "These last few … well, however you measure the duration I've spent on this side of time … have been some of the best in my life. Even with James ragging on me and Sirius' suspicion and Lily's flat-out dislike – plus a plot almost worthy of a Slytherin … being here is really great."

"But it makes you feel guilty that you're enjoying yourself so much?" Remus hazarded.

Harry looked up, meeting his eyes squarely for the first time. "That's it. That's it exactly. How did you know?"

Now it was Remus' turn for his smile to take on something of a wry tinge. "It may have escaped you, shut up safe here in Hogwarts as you have been, but in this time, there's a war going on. I defy you to find _anyone_ in the school who _hasn't_ lost a friend or close family member."

"That's right …" Harry sighed. "… I can't believe I forgot about that … I guess I never really quite realized how bad the war used to be. I mean, I've had plenty of encounters with Voldemort, in one form or another … but usually I'm the only one involved, or at least the focus. Like when the basilisk got loose – several people got petrified, and Ginny was kidnapped, but no one died …"

"A basilisk." Remus said flatly. "That's it. I can no longer be surprised by anything that comes out of that strange, dangerous adventure novel you evidently called a life. Let me guess, that was your first year at Hogwarts."

"Nope, second." Harry corrected cheerfully. "First was Voldemort possessing my DADA teacher in order to steal and use the Philosopher's Stone."

Remus buried his face in his hands. "As I said …" Then his head shot up. "What was something like a philosopher's stone doing at Hogwarts in the first place?"

Harry shrugged. "It got moved here for higher security."

"Security that, evidently, a _first_ year could break through?" Heavy on irony.

"Well, no … I needed a lot of help from Ron and Hermione to get through."

"Oh, right. _Three_ first years are ever so much more impressive than one."

Harry patted his arm soothingly. "It really wasn't as bad as you make it out to be, Remus. I'm used to it, really."

Remus just shook his head. "But you shouldn't have to be. Why couldn't an adult have taken care of any of this?"

"I was there first." Harry offered. "Besides, I _could_ do it … so why should anyone else have been troubled on my account?"

"So you didn't have to!" Why couldn't he make Harry _see_?

Harry just looked at him with that sad-knowing gaze. "Most other people have families. Voldemort killed all I'd willingly bestow with that title. Who better than me?" _Who else would have been willing to do so, when the Boy-Who-Lived was around to take care of the problem?_

"To spare you …" Remus stood and held out his hand, face resolute. "I would have."

* * *

Peter made a point of looking around the room, before finally turning back to Severus. "I feel abandoned." He drawled dryly. "My … what a big room you have …"

"The better to …" Severus deadpanned, then paused. "…" "…" "… oh, never mind."

"Whaat?" Peter demanded, trying his hardest to hide his grin.

Severus wasn't fooled. "Well, when I couldn't think of anything better than 'the better to seduce you with' …" an eloquent shrug "… I figured the better part of valor was just to concede." Now it was his turn to scan the room. "I assume the – Lupin went after Harry?"

And it was Peter's turn to shrug. "That seems to be the logical conclusion to draw. Now what was it you were saying about tasks and the Quidditch pitch?"

Severus' brows drew together. "I still don't understand why no one else heard. He was speaking in a perfectly normal tone of voice … perhaps a bit quieter than usual, but even though he's a fairly soft-spoken person in general, he's not _that_ inaudible." He gave a brief shake to his head. _Dammit. I'm babbling again._ "He was saying something about a third task, and how the Quidditch pitch had been turned into a giant maze … until he meandered off on a tangent about someone bringing someone else's body home …"

"His own, perhaps?"

Severus scowled. "No, he distinctly said ' _his_ body', it was definitely someone else. Besides, one of the actual few _documented_ effects of the curse he used is that it completely disintegrates the caster's body after the curse is cast. There wouldn't _be_ a body to take home. An urn, maybe … the documents don't say how complete the disintegration is, after all."

Peter looked faintly green. "On second thought, how about we move on? I prefer to avoid saying or even thinking the words 'Harry' and 'dead' in the same sentence when at all possible."

 _Point_. Severus acknowledged the statement with a small nod, as his pride as both a Slytherin and a Snape wouldn't allow him to assume much the same color for much the same reason.

"And that's about all, before he ran off."

Peter's eyes narrowed in thought. "Hey, why don't you try saying something to him right now?"

"Are you completely daft, Pettigrew? He's not in this room, in case you hadn't noticed … and I really don't feel like informing the entire castle of his return by yelling at the top of my lungs."

"No, I mean …" He waved his hand in a circle, searching for clarification. "Look, every other time Harry's been here, he's had some sort of mental contact with his current 'host', right?"

"It would be hard not to, when we're sharing a head." Severus pointed out dryly.

"Right, so … even now that you're in separate bodies, wouldn't it make sense that the connection was still there? Especially considering that you heard him talking about something no one else could hear?"

"He was speaking aloud."

"I didn't hear a thing. And I wasn't paying extremely close attention, but I'm pretty sure his mouth wasn't moving, either."

"Hmpf." Pettigrew had a point, but damned if Severus was going to actually acknowledge that fact verbally.

 _:Harry?:_ He grumbled again about the fact that he still had no idea what the spirit's last name was. He knew it was the only way, but it still felt exceedingly strange to be calling this person that he barely know, and who seemed primarily to have a Gryffindor core, even if he occasionally exhibited some rather Slytherin traits and was certainly a great deal quieter than most Gryffindors he knew, by his first name.

 _:Yeah?:_ Came the startled reply. _:Severus? Where are … oh. Well, that's certainly interesting.:_

 _:You are feeling better?:_ Unfortunately, there was no way to make that not sound like concern, though Severus tried his best.

 _:More or less.:_ Was the somewhat less than optimal reply. _:I believe Remus is a bit hacked off at me, though.:_

 _:Why?:_ Then, as a new and more alarming thought occurred to him, _:Be careful.:_

The response to the latter was immediate and fervent. _:Severus Snape, you take that back right now! I have absolutely nothing to fear from Remus, even if he was a great deal more angry with me than he is now, even near the full moon when his beastly instincts are at their height – and I'll thank you to notice that we are actually entering the_ new _moon phase.:_

_:Um …:_

_:And furthermore, I think it's totally unreasonable and cruel of you to react that way. Remus is just as human as you or I – and perhaps even more, considering how many students in my time are completely convinced you're a vampire or something – :_

Snape was assaulted with the brief image of a tall, menacing figure, wearing a billowing black cloak. _Just what I always wanted to be when I grew up._ He thought to himself, amused. _A bat._

 _: – and though I may be human enough, what with all the stupid pedestals people put me on, it's rare that anyone else seems to share my opinion.:_ The mental image of a deep breath.

 _:Yes, it's common sense to stay out of the way of his claws and teeth when he's transformed, since he can't control himself in that state. But when he's in human form, he's_ human _, with slightly heightened senses and greater strength at times. He has a mind, and whether you want to admit it or not, Severus, Remus is certainly one of the most controlled people_ I've _ever known. He's_ not _going to go on a rampage in human form, and since, as I mentioned before, it's a new moon now …:_

The sound of a disgusted sigh. _:Oh, never mind. You're being a bigot and if you're anywhere near as smart as you pretend you are, you know it.:_ With the sensation of a door slamming in his face – and the sudden urge to rub his nose from the imagined impact – Harry said no more.

 _Okay, note to self. Never_ ever _get Harry defensive about Lupin again._

"I take it I was right?" Peter asked dryly as Severus' attention snapped back to the room in general. The Slytherin was slightly disoriented when he realized that the blond Gryffindor had somehow managed to move several feet to one side without his notice.

Severus grunted.

"So what did he have to say?"

The black-haired seventh year suppressed a wince at the memory of how completely he had been told off – by a kid at least three years younger than him! "Rather a lot. Lupin did manage to find him, and evidently is now mad at him for something …"

"Remus? Angry?" Peter blinked multiple times rather rapidly. "… Why?"

Now it was Severus' turn to blink. He looked back on the conversation, but could no longer remember much other than Harry's tirade. Ah! That had been set off because he had warned Harry to be careful. But had he ever actually …?

"… Would you believe that I forgot to ask?"

* * *

"Harry!"

Spirit and werewolf turned. "Mr. – Thomas!" Harry exclaimed, eyes and face alike lighting up. Remus felt a momentary pang of … something unfamiliar, something he was hopeless to further identify. It seemed wrong that Harry was smiling so brightly at this unknown … Muggle, most likely, by the clothes he wore.

But that was just plain silly.

The man turned an amused gaze on the werewolf. "Mr. Thomas … well, that's better than nothing, I suppose. You must be Remus Lupin, correct?" He extended his hand. Remus took it, and cautiously shook. "I'm Thomas Evans. Lily's told me much about you."

Now that he had been told, Remus could see a certain family resemblance between the two – not only in the red hair that was a somewhat darker shade on father than daughter, but in the lithe build and the thin, roughly triangular face. "All good, I hope." He replied lightly, entirely unable to dislike this man.

Thomas appeared to ponder this. "Well, you were the member of James' crew she found least objectionable for the longest time … seems like an excellent review to me." The man turned to Harry. "So, what life-threatening adventures have you engaged in since I last saw you?"

"I don't find trouble _every day_!" Harry protested in a hurt tone of voice. Then, with the smile peeking back through, "Just on alternate Tuesdays." He tilted his head. "What are you doing out here?"

Thomas looked around innocently. "If anyone asks, I'm trying to find a bathroom."

The spirit eyed him doubtfully. "I doubt Dumbledore would have been so remiss as to have given you a suite without one."

"It's … er … in use."

"Well, then." Harry mused. "I suppose it's my duty to show you around. Point out all the nearby bathrooms, just in case you're caught in this dreadful situation ever again."

Getting into the swing of the conversation, Remus ventured, "You know, for a good overview of the castle as a whole, we might want to show him the Astronomy Tower."

Harry nodded firmly. "Definitely a must."

"D'you suppose we should invite Lily along?" _He is her father, after all …_

The two exchanged Looks that were unfamiliar to Remus. "That won't be necessary." Mr. Evans reassured him. "I'm sure she has other things she'd rather be doing."

"The fewer who know of my presence here, the better." Harry added quietly. "Though there shouldn't be any real trouble as long as _he_ doesn't catch wind of who my host is."

Expecting him to come to the defense of his daughter, Remus was stunned to see Lily's father nodding his agreement. "But …" He protested weakly. "Lily wouldn't do something like that … would she?"

Mr. Evans' continued silence and Harry's addition to it spoke louder than words.

"She's your daughter. Surely you want to spend time with her …?" Remus was no longer even exactly sure why he was protesting. It wasn't like he personally cared whether Lily was there or not … it just didn't seem right. _There's a piece to this puzzle I'm missing._

"I don't feel the need to share my whole life with my daughter." Mr. Evans said calmly. "She's had me for the first seventeen years of her life. She can do without me for these few hours." He smiled down at Harry, and Harry smiled back, an expression mingling joy, sorrow, and unexpected bitterness.

_A very large piece._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11 January 2004  
> 9 September 2012  
> 19 April 2019


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given all the other random cursing I've thrown around in this story, it cracks me up that I felt the need to warn for usage of a certain word beginning in 'f' specifically, but ... XD 
> 
> Also yet more brief fatphobic language interludes. :P
> 
> ==
> 
> Um … I've been … um … busy?
> 
> *disappears under pile of flaming bricks*
> 
> Oh, before I forget … *looks bored* Language warning. I use harsher language at one point in this fic than usual. Of course, this is a word I learned in sixth grade … so these days, as long as you're in the double digits age-wise, I seriously doubt I'll be teaching you anything you don't know already …
> 
> Harry Potter doesn't belong to me. Even if you're not in the double digits yet, I'm sure you know that much. :P
> 
> (11/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

A knock at the door.

 _Who on Earth …?_ He could feel Harry contentedly off … somewhere; probably running around with Mr. Evans again. And he honestly could not think of anyone else likely to come calling. His fellow Slytherins weren't the sort to visit unless they were interested in something in particular, and his relative value had sunk drastically ever since he emphatically cut all ties with the Voldemort-affiliated group the previous November.

It still hurt a bit. Future Death Eaters or no, he had thought of several of them as his friends … he missed Evan's sense of humor, how he managed to put a razor edge on nearly every statement he made, and you could never quite tell whether or not he was being genuinely serious. He missed watching Bellatrix pull her man-eater act on and chase Rodolphus around – better than any Muggle sitcom, that was. Especially since she wasn't that way at all except when she was in Rodolphus-hunting mode.

In a way, it was like watching a role reversal of the way Potter used to pursue Evans … except this particular amusement hadn't come to its inevitable end quite yet. The betting pool was wide and varied; Severus personally had bet that Rodolphus would see the light (probably by dint of Bellatrix finally bashing enough holes in his head) near the end of seventh year – he was sure that Bella would snare him by graduation. Come to think of it … perhaps Harry would know. He'd have to remember to ask the spirit.

And change his bet accordingly, if necessary, of course.

He was recalled abruptly from his woolgathering by an increase in the knock's volume and insistence and, muttering to himself, marched over to the door and wrenched it open. From the other side, Pettigrew – of all people! – nearly fell in, briefly regained his balance, then tripped on the threshold and ended up falling anyway. "Pettigrew?" There went the vaunted Snape eloquence … again … "What are you doing here?"

The Gryffindor nimbly regained his feet – a good thing, since Severus had absolutely no intention of backsliding far enough to actually offering the other a hand up – a red face the only indication left that his entrance had been anything at all out of the ordinary. "Erh … well … you see …"

A deep breath, and the blond's face began to reassume something vaguely resembling its normal hue. "Remus is off somewhere …" he began awkwardly, "… and I really don't want to be around James and Lily and Sirius right now, because if they start badmouthing Harry – which they do, occasionally, even though they don't know he's back – I don't trust myself to keep from blurting something I shouldn't … and, well …" He gestured at the floor, indicating the pile of papers that had scattered when he fell. "I noticed you were … er … 'trying' to work on Transfiguration last time I was here, so I was just wondering – if you haven't already long since finished it or anything – if you'd mind too much working with someone who's probably even more incompetent than you at the subject?"

 _Did he really say all that in just two breaths?_ Severus resisted the urge to blink bemusedly as he absently remarked, "You're babbling, Pettigrew."

The Gryffindor's face fell. "So that's a no, then." Silently, he kneeled and began re-gathering his papers.

 _You know … if they saw this, the others would_ never _let me live it down …_ Severus rolled his eyes, not entirely sure himself who exactly he was rolling them at, and tapped Peter on the shoulder. "Did I say that?" He demanded.

"Well, no, but …"

He shook his head. "Just like a Gryffindor, putting words in my mouth _again_. Finish gathering that stuff and come sit down already, for Merlin's sake."

Matching actions to words, he glided back over to his desk and sat down himself, still shaking his head to himself.

_Now see what Harry has done to me? Friends with a real Gryffindor … I'm surely ruined for life!_

* * *

If he had had any sense at all, he would have just walked on. The screaming wasn't the sort he associated with anyone in real trouble, after all; it more closely resembled the sorts of sounds his younger sister made during a particularly bad temper tantrum. And he certainly knew better than to get involved in one of _those_.

So what made him stop? At the time, he wasn't entirely sure; he became even less certain as the years wore on. But the fact remained that he did stop, turning towards the sound and tracing it to a nearly forgotten room that had gone unoccupied for quite some time.

Quite different from the other time he had seen it (an incident better left forgotten; its only good aspect being that he had been so surprised at seeing … well … what he had seen that he had been driven to research that room, as he couldn't quite believe that it hadn't all been a very bad dream), one wall was lined with shelves holding nearly every variation on glass and otherwise breakable objects; the other entirely blank.

And in the middle of the room, the source of the screech; currently in the act of throwing another item off the shelf (self-refilling, of course) towards the blank wall. Self-preservation led him to wait until _after_ the object had left her hands (and before she picked up another one) to make his presence known with a small cough.

As he had halfway expected, the distraction only phased her for a moment before she flung herself at him, arms swinging wildly. Though he ducked out of the way in a rather expert fashion – this, a benefit of being the sort of kid who had gone through grade school and even his first few years of Hogwarts as if he had a sign pasted to his forehead saying 'Pick On Me' – a lucky hit still managed to glance off his jaw; he'd be bruising there before long.

"I hate you!" She was screaming, only this side of completely incomprehensible. "I hate you all!"

"And why would that be?" He inquired, carefully as neutrally as he could. And ducked some more.

"Oh, like you really care?" She scoffed. "You and your wands and your potions and your _magic_. You're all the same!"

"That seems a bit unfair." He objected mildly, catching one of her arms as it came flying past yet again. "It's like saying … oh … that all men are chauvinist pigs. At least, I like to _think_ there are a couple of us that are actually decent out there somewhere …"

"You _are._ " She sniffed. "Is it _my_ fault I'm locked up in this stupid old castle? Is it _my_ fault some insane – wizard, I might add! – megalomaniac attacked my house? Is it _my_ fault that because of said insane wizard, some senile old _fool_ decided that I'd be _safer_ here?"

"This insane wizard wouldn't happen to be named V-Voldemort, would he …?"

The girl shrugged, for some reason calm enough now to be able to give a coherent answer (at decibels more appropriate for the ordinary human ear, even). "Something like that."

He gaped at her. "You're a Muggle. And you've seen Him. And you're alive and sane to tell the tale."

"Yeah, and?"

"That's something most _wizards_ don't manage! Do you have _any_ idea how many innocent families he's killed?! How did you manage it?"

She shrugged, outwardly blasé. "My sister – the freak of the family – turned into some black-haired boy, kicked What's-His-Face's minion's asses, and chatted with What's-His-Face until that senile old fool showed up, at which point he disappeared."

She looked more closely at the boy's blank stare. "Oh, please. You do _magic_. I thought this sort of freaky shit happened all the time!"

He blinked. "What's your name?"

She eyed him suspiciously. Then, "… Petunia," she grudgingly answered.

"Well, Petunia – I'm Edwin, by the way – I can see that there is still a great deal you need to learn about magic." He smiled sheepishly. "I'm Muggle-born too, just like your … sister, you said? So I know kinda where you're coming from." A sudden flash of white as he grinned. "Trust me, we do a lot of 'freaky shit', as you called it, but shapeshifting is _not_ on the Hogwarts curriculum."

She raised an eyebrow – one of the few mannerisms she had picked up from her father. "I heard my sister talking about this one time her boyfriend turned some other kid into a frog."

"That's just Transfiguration." He waved away. "If it was during class, at least … otherwise, I'm thinking your sister probably 'forgot' to mention the disciplinary action leveled on her boyfriend as soon as the Transfiguration teacher – Professor McGonagall; she's the most dried up old stick I've ever seen – found out what he had done."

Something vaguely resembling either a smirk or a sneer. "She would."

"Well, anyway … want me to show you what magic is about? For real, this time?"

She was stuck in a huge castle, her boyfriend of several years duration had just dropped her like a hot poker just because she had been dragged to said magical castle – against her will, she might add … her father was always out and her mother seemed determined to completely ignore the whole thing (and, as a result, spent all her time – literally – eating, sleeping, or curled up in their bedroom reading) … she had absolutely _no_ friends here. And if there was one thing to be said about Petunia, it was that she was undeniably a social animal.

Frankly, by this point, she was so desperate for some company that she would gladly have associated with _Lily_ , even. This boy – Edwin – who was at least sort of normal (at least he had started out that way …), and moderately intelligent sounding (it didn't hurt that he didn't seem to like her description of Lily's boyfriend all that much), and even a bit cute …

Previous rage almost entirely forgotten, she smiled at him. "Sure."

* * *

Harry stirred, caught briefly in that moment between sleep and wakefulness, uncurling to stretch from the near fetal position in which he customarily slept, and encountered an unexpected obstacle.

An … arm?

He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and poked at the long pale fuzzy object. Yup, looked like an arm all right. Now, what would an arm – not including the two he had attached already – be doing in his bed?

Around that time, just as said arm began to shift away and a large dark fuzzy lump began to move, his brain finally caught up with the rest of him and he remembered where he was and why. He had _told_ Severus that he'd be all right sleeping on the floor … stupid Slytherin and his unexpected streak of _chivalry_ , of all things …

With this knowledge, came the thought that he knew where his glasses were and it would really be a pretty good idea to put them on so that he could stop perceiving the world around him as just a variety of different sized, shaped, and colored fuzzy lumps.

Putting said glasses on, his vision miraculously cleared just in time to see one black eye slide open and fix itself on him. "You … poked?"

Harry could feel himself flushing. "Sorry. I wasn't quite awake yet."

The edge of the open eye crinkled a bit, and the barest hint of amusement leaked over into his mind. "You really are a Gryffindor, aren't you?"

The spirit propped himself up on his elbow. "And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Severus replied blandly. He sat up slightly himself, peering more closely at Harry. "On your elbow … what is that?"

He looked down. "What?" He asked blankly.

"That … knot. On the inside of your elbow."

Harry sat up fully, stretching his elbow out and peering at it. He finally found the 'knot' Severus had been talking about. "Oh, this." He smiled mirthlessly. "Impromptu blood donation."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "To whom?"

"Voldemort." He waved his hand. "Some potion … bone of the father, flesh of the servant, blood of the enemy … something like that." He smirked. "Bastard wasn't alive to enjoy it too much longer, of course."

"… What was it like, casting that spell?"

"Powerful. Almost heady, in fact … if other Dark Arts are much like that, I begin to see why they might be addictive. I wasn't really concentrating much on the spell itself, though, once I cast it … I had to deal with this odd thing, where the spells from our wands connected and formed this golden line of light …"

Both eyebrows raised.

"What?" Harry demanded at that look, of something between surprise and near awe. "Do you know what that was?"

"It means your wands have brother cores." Severus said quietly. "From the same animal. They refused to fight against each other – that's what the golden line of light was, I expect." He trailed off. "I had thought that was just a legend …"

Harry blinked. "Oh, is that all? I've known _that_ since I first got my wand from Ollivander." He lowered his voice creepily. "I think we must expect great things of you … after all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great."

Severus poked him. "Don't do that."

Harry's voice returned to normal as he flipped on his back to regard the canopy of the bed. "That's the real problem, I think … since the moment I set foot in the wizarding world, people have been doing nothing but expecting me to do great things."

"… I wouldn't mind doing a few great things." Severus mused quietly.

"You did, I'm sure … you were a spy in Voldemort's ranks for I don't know how long; you must have done many great things. Just not the sort of thing that anyone would recognize you for … hell, I never did."

Severus blinked slowly. Unable to keep the surprise entirely out of his voice, he asked cautiously, "Did you … not like me, then?" _I had thought him too Gryffindor – despite his occasional tendencies otherwise – to mask that sort of dislike so well._

A brief, harsh bark of laughter. "Let's put it this way: I disliked Voldemort and the entire Malfoy family – Draco Malfoy in particular, he's Lucius Malfoy's son, and in my year – more. During the summers, I probably disliked my relatives more. Otherwise …" A shrug that Severus could feel more than see.

"… I don't get it. If you hated me so badly, why didn't you just let me die?"

Flatly. "I'm not like James. And once I knew _he_ wasn't going to save you, I knew – from what I had heard of the situation in my world – no one else would." A sigh. "And no matter how little I may have liked you, there's only one person I know that I would wish death on – and I've killed him already." Another pause, and when he began again, his voice was wry. "Besides, you've pulled my fat out of the fire – or at least thought that was what you were doing – more than once. Turnabout is fair play."

"As for the rest of the story …" Harry poked him, this time in the ribs, and Severus fought hard to – and barely succeeded – not squirm. _Snapes are not ticklish. It's undignified._ "I find that Slytherins are like fungus. They grow on you."

There was another question on Severus' mind as well – _why_ had he hated Harry so very much? For he had no doubt that he had – Harry, from all his observations, seemed the sort to take into dislike only those who made him the target of their hatred first.

Another question – assuming he had taken Harry into such dislike, for whatever unknown reason, why on Earth had he saved (or even tried to save) the boy's life? Severus was not like Harry … he had few doubts as to his ability to just stand back and let an enemy die.

But he had been silent too long, and first he had an insult to avenge. Other questions could come later.

"… Severus? What do you think you're doing with that pillow?"

* * *

"Harry?"

"Hmm …?" The spirit replied, remarkably coherently, he thought, considering that he was still recovering from their impromptu – and quite intense – pillow fight. This was odd, though … Severus almost sounded _nervous_. Or perhaps it was just his imagination … yeah, on second thought, that made a lot more sense.

"I … well, I've been thinking. I know you don't want to tell me your last name, and even if I don't quite understand the reasons why, I respect that … so, I was thinking … would you be willing to take mine instead?"

Harry blinked. Turned from his spread-eagled position to look at Severus and blinked again. "That," he finally said, "was the _strangest_ proposal I have ever heard."

Severus growled, reaching for another pillow, only to collapse back when he realized there were none within reach. "I didn't mean it like that, you idiot Gryffindor." He sighed. "I was just thinking … if you wanted to become blood brothers with me … I mean, I'd hate to subject you to my family, but from what you've said yours wasn't much better so it's not like you're not used to it …"

Harry blinked again. Was he really …? Yes, indeed, it seemed that Severus Snape, ice cold Slytherin bastard, was _babbling_. "Um …" he interjected hesitantly.

It was gratifying, in an odd way, how immediately Severus fell silent. "I'd love to, but … it's not right." He felt helpless tears gathering at the corners of eyes, but pushed them back angrily. This was not the time for that. "I … you wouldn't want to be my brother if you knew who I really was. And letting you do this without telling you … you'd hate me for it."

"But … I do know who you really are. You're Harry. You're a precocious fourteen-year-old brat who is too Slytherin to be Gryffindor and too Gryffindor to be anyone I'd ever even consider associating myself with and yet I find myself enjoying your company anyway. You're a first-rate flyer, a mean dueler and have too soft a heart for your own good. You're you, Harry. Does anything else really matter?"

Harry shook his head. "No, but … it would to you."

"Trust me on this … it would to you."

* * *

Remus had left for Gryffindor Tower to make a start on the pile of homework he had been neglecting more and more since Harry reappeared; Thomas, as well, had begged off – ostensibly, he intended to see if he could find the Muggle studies classroom and/or teacher; privately Harry believed it was more likely to be providing himself with a chance to get well and thoroughly lost.

So it was Harry alone, this time, who made the trek back towards his – or, more appropriately, Severus' – rooms, and Harry alone who happened to encounter two other people in the hall. One, he knew entirely too well, the other not at all.

"You." His aunt Petunia said, with a curious lack of hostility, before turning to the boy beside her – unremarkable in physical aspect, looking about the size to be yet another seventh-year; a Hufflepuff by the badge on his robes. "That's him, Edwin, the kid my sister turned into over Christmas."

She turned back to address him directly. "Are you still Lily? If so, tell her she's an annoying, arrogant, lying bitch."

Harry sneered – if living around Severus had taught him anything, it had vastly improved his abilities at mimicking most of the stereotypical Slytherin expressions – and raised an eyebrow. "I may be transparent at times, but do I really look like _that_ good a mirror?"

The Hufflepuff looked at him with surprise. "My, you've got a mouth for a twelve-year-old, don't you?" He turned to Petunia. "This kid confronted _You-Know-Who_?"

"Yeah, I'd know him anywhere. He has a very distinctive voice, you know. Besides, he's possibly the only boy in this place who's shorter than both me _and_ Lily – I remember seeing her shrink."

Harry didn't see red – though he was forced to admit that there was a certain tinge of pink, just at the edges, mind you, to his vision – but he was definitely grinding his teeth. _Short jokes. Why always the short jokes? And I do_ not _look twelve._

Evidently his face had taken on the color his vision had not, and of course the two people in front of him misinterpreted his color, not as the anger it was in truth, but as embarrassment. "Hey, don't get too upset about it." The Hufflepuff – Edwin? – said, in a kindly condescending sort of fashion. "I didn't hit my growth spurt until I was nearly fourteen, so you've got a couple of years yet."

Petunia nodded, grudgingly adding, "And in my family – especially my dad's side – the guys are notoriously slow growers, sometimes not even starting on the major growth spurts until a year or so after that. You'll get bigger eventually."

"…" Harry resisted the urge to wipe his face with his hand. "First of all, I'm _fourteen_. Or fifteen, depending on how you look at things. Second of all, this is as big as I'll ever be." _And I'm only just now beginning to really understand the disadvantages of spending eternity in the body of a runty fourteen-year-old._

He must have thought that slightly louder than he meant to, for Severus' calming personality spread through his mind for a brief moment, tinged with mirth. _:You're not runty.:_ The Slytherin assured him. A perfectly timed pause. _:Just somewhat vertically challenged.:_ And disappeared again, before Harry had the chance to formulate a decent retort.

Not, if their previous exchanges of this nature were any judge, that he would have come up with one anyway. In fact, the only time he managed to silence the other boy completely was when he had made his incredible, wonderful, absolutely impossible offer.

But that was an interlude that Harry tried his hardest to forget, and he was sure Severus was doing exactly the same. The wounds were simply too raw just yet.

"That's not any attitude to have." The Hufflepuff admonished gently. "Most fourteen year olds are in the middle of their growth spurt, if they've even started yet; I seriously doubt you'd be finished already." _Especially considering how short you still are_ , his significant look seemed to add.

An eyebrow twitched. "Were you not listening to Petunia, there? Not that I blame you, mind … I was _possessing_ Lily. What does that tend to indicate to you?"

"That you're a dark wizard?" He ventured. "But then, why would you be opposing You-Know-Who?"

Harry again resisted the urge to wipe his face again. "I. Am. Dead. I will not be growing any more because this is how tall I was when I died."

"So you died two years ago?"

 _Bloody friggin'_ … "No. I died … well, that's complicated. Less than a month ago by my own reckoning. I died while I was still fourteen." He threw his hands into the air. "I give up! Why on earth am I standing around here discussing my _height_ with two strangers?"

"How did you die?" Petunia.

"I decided anything was better than returning home to spend another summer with my aunt and uncle." He shot back cuttingly.

"But I was always taught that people who suicide go straight to hell …"

Unsurprisingly, it was the Hufflepuff who came up with a semi-intelligent response. "But then why aren't you all ghostly … and shouldn't your wrists be bleeding?" His eyes narrowed. "You were joshing us. Wow, you really are disrespectful, aren't you?"

"Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer." Was Harry's retort. "I'm a Gryffindor. I went out kicking Voldemort's ass. How else?"

"But … this Voldie-whatsits guy is still around …" Petunia said, brow furrowed. "Not only was he at Christmas – which must have been after you died, and he didn't recognize you – but he attacked some small village just yesterday." At Harry's frankly astonished gaze, she reddened. "Well, it's not like there's anything else to do in this stupid old castle but read!"

"I don't know what's more unbelievable …" Harry said slowly. "… the idea of you reading something other than some awful gossip rag … or the fact that you just evidenced some semblance of rational and logical thought."

"Now _that_ is exceedingly unkind, and entirely uncalled for." The Hufflepuff said sharply. "Apologize."

Harry just stared at him flatly. _Make me._ "Whoever said I was from this time period?"

"But you being from the past doesn't make any sense either!"

"You're from the future." Petunia's voice overran the Hufflepuff's, suddenly certain.

"That's impossible …"

"It's magic." Petunia returned. "What can magic _not_ do?"

"Bring back to life people who don't deserve to be dead." Harry said quietly. "Keep bad things from happening to good people. Get rid of disease, hunger, greed, prejudice … oh, especially prejudice …"

"It's what I was trying to tell you earlier, Petunia … wizards are a _lot_ like Muggles, in more ways than most of us are quite willing to admit. We're human too."

Harry was genuinely surprised at how seriously his aunt was taking this _wizard_ – as evinced by the contemplative look on her face; the way she nodded and responded with nothing more than a "Yes … I'm beginning to see that, I think …" She seemed to notice his incredulous stare, turning to him with a sharply irritated "What?"

He shook his head. "I just never thought I'd see the day … Petunia D – Evans actually holding a reasonable conversation with one of the 'freaks' …"

The Hufflepuff immediately registered his protest, while Petunia's return glare intensified, becoming a very searching gaze. He could almost _see_ the lightbulb appearing over her head as she came to a conclusion. "Of course … why didn't I see it before?" She shook her head. "You know me and hate my guts … it would be _just_ like Lily …"

Harry snorted. "Lily has absolutely nothing to do with the reasons why I hate you. You managed to cultivate that _all_ by yourself … you and your husband and your stupid pig of a son!"

She looked for a moment like she would take offense, but then bulled on through. "You have _her_ attitude and eyes and her good-for-nothing boyfriend's face …"

"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?"

* * *

Transfiguration was the bane of Severus' existence. Truly, it was. He could swear he had other homework, loads of it. But somehow, _that_ all got done, and Transfiguration … well …

Didn't.

So here he was, once again, trying his hardest to force himself into line and on topic. As he had previously observed, it was not necessarily that Transfiguration was particularly hard – yes, he didn't have quite as good a grasp on it as some other subjects (Potions, for example), but that didn't mean he was _bad_ at it.

Now, his skills at focusing his concentration long enough to actually _do_ the thrice-damned assignments, on the other hand …

He cursed as a wave of anger/disgust flowing over him caused him to jerk his hand – not creating any streaks across the paper, this time, but making a large splotch that was nearly as bad. _What on Earth?!_

 _:And I'm only just now beginning to really understand the disadvantages of spending eternity in the body of a runty fourteen-year-old.:_ Severus nearly laughed aloud at the disgruntled tone to Harry's mental voice; and it was certainly too perfect an opportunity to make another dig of his own at the spirit's height.

Still … all funning aside, that level of sheer anger worried him slightly. He had caught the occasional edge of pure hatred once or twice when the subject of Voldemort had come up (or, if not precisely pure hatred, that was certainly the closest the Slytherin could come to labeling that particular emotion), and the mostly negative turmoil when the subject of Dumbledore came up (intentionally rarely), but otherwise, Harry just didn't hate, or even dislike all that virulently. It was almost as if it was against his nature to do so.

And considering that he dearly _hoped_ Harry was not within speaking distance of either Voldemort or Dumbledore …

He was outside the portrait guarding his door before his brain acknowledged the decision to move. _Okay, protective instincts. How very un-Slytherin._ A pause for consideration. _Oh bloody well._ That _offer was un-Slytherin in the extreme … I still made it, and look where it got me … serves me right, but have I learned anything from the experience?_ The barest hint of an audible snort. _Who am I kidding? Of course not!_

Before too long, he found himself fading into the shadows of an oh-so-convenient corner (he sometimes suspected Hogwarts had something of a sense of humor … he certainly didn't recall this particular hallway being in this particular configuration at any time in the past seven years he'd spent passing through it), out of sight but with a clear view of the altercation.

Two students, one a Hufflepuff seventh year that he vaguely recognized, but could not quite put a name to – was it Edgar? Erwin? Something along those lines … – and another, a girl who looked about the right age to be a seventh year (perhaps older, although that could be just the particular expression her face found itself in), and was entirely unfamiliar. And Harry, of course.

Harry was, perhaps, the greatest surprise. That flash of anger had not just been a fluke; he was keeping better control of it now as far as it leaking across their link was concerned, but it could still be read in every line of his stiff body, in the flash of his eyes and the facial expression that was the best sneer _he_ had ever seen the other boy use (and, even more tellingly, not half bad on an objective scale, either). "… you and your husband and your stupid _pig_ of a son!" He spat – another thing Severus had never seen Harry do before.

The girl (who was she? She didn't look at all familiar, but there were certain features … the occasional movement … that hinted at a sort of near familiarity all the same) looked like she was regarding Harry in an entirely new light.

She began slowly, with a look on her face like she was thinking furiously, trying to fit into place the remaining pieces of a particularly annoying puzzle. "You have _her_ attitude and eyes and her good-for-nothing boyfriend's face …"

The light dawned. What light, he wasn't entirely sure, but for certain the girl had figured _something_ out. And from the way she was holding herself, he figured that it was only a matter of time – and a short time, at that – before they all became privy to whatever conclusions she had just drawn.

And oh, how right he was …

"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" The girl said triumphantly.

All the half-hinted clues came together, those small niggling bits of the puzzle that he had missed the significance of or simply completely and willfully ignored, coalescing in a single moment into a clear conviction that this girl, whoever she was and whatever her relationship to Harry, was absolutely correct.

And in his shock at how much _sense_ it made, and yet how totally and completely _wrong_ it was, only one thought was left.

* * *

_:No fucking way.:_

Already reeling, both from the revelation that someone else in this era now knew his name and exactly _who_ – certainly the last person _he_ would have ever expected – had figured it out, that was the final straw.

Looking away from the expression on Petunia's face that was part accusatory and part triumphant, his eyes immediately found and held for one long moment with a certain, much darker pair. Outsiders, seeing the two stare at each other so intently, might have supposed that the two were engaged in some sort of mental rapport; the plain fact of the matter was that both were simply too shocked to think … well, much of anything … much less share said thoughts with one another.

Severus' face was disturbing blank, a bad sign in and of itself, but Harry could literally feel the shock, the disgust and revulsion. Feeling utterly vindicated in his lack of faith in Severus and all the more betrayed, Harry slammed a wall between them, as solid a barrier as he could manage, and, with one last glance at the other two, entirely clueless inhabitants of the hallway, ran.

_It figures … even here in the past, Aunt Petunia has found a way to ruin my life._

* * *

Remus was beginning to get seriously annoyed with himself. It seemed that every perfect opportunity he got to make inroads on the piles of pre-NEWT homework all his teachers insisted on giving, he'd always end up staring out the window and thinking – worrying, if he were to be entirely honest – about Harry instead.

Three guesses as to what he was doing now?

It wasn't like he didn't know Harry could take care of himself. Hell, he could probably do so far better than one measly bookworm of a werewolf. The boy had taken out _Voldemort_ , for pity's sake … and he had a sneaking suspicion that Lily's family's presence here was also Voldemort – and Harry – related. Add to that the fact that he was dead now, and thus at least nominally safe from harm.

Dropping his face into his hands, he rubbed his temples and sighed. And there he went again …

No, Harry certainly didn't need protection – and definitely not the small, tainted portion he could provide. But … there was something about him … that made him want to give that protection anyway. Ever since that one night … even as a wolf, he had vague memories of searching for something, of finding some odd comfort in the barest remnants of his scent.

He just gave thanks to any gods that existed that he was not allowed to roam free in wolf form, because he had a sick feeling that these days, as a wolf, he would head straight for Harry.

And the least he could do, even if he couldn't protect Harry from anyone else, was to protect Harry from himself.

His gaze – which for a change had been directed sightlessly through his homework instead of, as usual, through the window – abruptly redirected itself towards said window as he stood halfway to get a better view of that flicker of movement he had half-seen out of the corner of his eye.

There it was again, a splash of black across the background of melting remnants of snow and slowly emerging green. His head lifted and he sniffed cautiously, as if he could catch the scent from all the way up there, before he caught himself and lowered his head guiltily. _Damned lupine instincts …_

The figure was in an obvious hurry, probably upset about something … and somehow, even though he knew how unlikely it was, he felt sure that it was Harry.

Then again … perhaps it wasn't quite so far-fetched. After all, who else did he know that headed straight for the Quidditch field when he was upset? And in the middle of February, no less? All right, James and Sirius, perhaps … but they were still in the common room, plotting … something. So it couldn't be them. Ergo …

And yet … _What could possibly have happened to upset Harry so badly in the last –_ he took a quick glance at a nearby clock _– less than an hour?_

Well, whatever it was, it would regret messing with Harry. _He_ would make sure of _that_.

He spared little more than a glance at the still barely started essay he had been attempting to work on, a glance and a slightly disgusted sigh at the fact that he was, once again, wasting time he really ought to have been spending on said homework.

But then … if there was one thing he had learned through the years, it was that sometimes, there were things more important than school.

* * *

"Hey."

"Hey." Harry's voice was duller than usual, Remus noted with concern as he sat down near – but not too near – the younger boy.

"Are you …" _No, stupid question._ "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." The voice flattened even further.

"You know, if you're going to lie, you ought to put more effort into it than that." Remus chided him gently, hoping the amusement in his voice would evoke _some_ response. "I know I may not be able to do anything to help … but … I'm willing to try. Or at least to listen."

"I …" Harry shook his head, a quick jerk. "No." He sighed. "It's my fault anyway … I hoped …" Another jerk of the head. "It doesn't really matter now. I was proven right … no matter how I wished I wouldn't be."

"With what?" He probed cautiously.

"You wouldn't … no, you probably would understand, all too well." _Now_ Harry looked at him, emerald eyes shining, pleading that he understand the spirit's silence … piercing him, it felt, until all his outer layers were stripped away, all secrets revealed, only his soul remaining. "But don't you see?" The voice now conveyed the same plea as the eyes. "I don't want you to understand."

A violent gesture that indicated the Quidditch field, Hogwarts in general, the two of them … everything. "I don't want you to understand, because then, this would change. Everything would change. And … I like what we have now. I don't want to lose you, to lose this friendship we have."

"You wouldn't." Remus replied with absolute conviction. "I've latched onto you for good; you'll never get rid of me now."

A bittersweet smile. "I wish I could believe you … I wish I could believe that, even if you knew the truth, you – _this_ – wouldn't change."

"Believe it."

 _That's what Severus said. And now …_ "I can't." His voice rang with finality. "I'm sorry, Remus, truly I am … but I'm not that strong."

 _How have you come to mean so much to me?_ His eyes flicked back towards Remus' profile for a brief moment. _If I lost this … I'm not that strong. I_ couldn't _bear it. I wish …_

Two lonely silhouettes sat high in the stands of the Quidditch pitch, together yet infinitely far apart, and silently watched the sun go down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 13 March 2004  
> 9 September 2012  
> 19 April 2019


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief flashback to last chapter's usage of fatphobic language.
> 
> Also I definitely had to look [propositional representation](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Propositional_representation) up; shows how much I remember from the cognitive psychology class I took in college. :D 
> 
> ==
> 
> Welll … as usual, it took me way too long, and as usual, I have no good excuse for taking this long. *sigh*
> 
> Propositional representation: (I, Harry Potter, not own)
> 
> (11/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

"Papa, Papa!"

The auburn-haired man looked up, more than a little surprised. The last time one of his daughters had called him that, had been … he found he could not remember the last time; just a flashbulb memory of a little girl, red hair in untidy pigtails, proudly showing off the space in her mouth where a tooth had once been.

Yet it was _not_ the redhead, but his blonde daughter that came bouncing into the room, looking happier than she had in a long time. Of course, he had come to terms with the fact that that probably meant she had just picked up on some new bit of dirty gossip … but it was still nice, seeing his child happy.

Following after her, looking ever so slightly bewildered, was a rather nice-looking young man – brown hair, nondescript eyes; mildly handsome in an understated, totally unremarkable sort of way – with a black and yellow patch on his black student robe. _That's Hufflepuff, right? Dedicated and hardworking and loyal … not a bad recommendation._

Goodness knew he'd seen his daughters – both of them, come to think of it – drag home less likely characters in his time. "Hello, I'm Thomas Evans." He said mildly, a gentle reminder to his daughter.

"Oh, right! Edwin, this is my dad. Dad, this is Edwin …" she trailed off, and blinked. "I don't know that I ever caught your last name."

"Sorry about that." Edwin's grin held a healthy self-mocking quality; it was comfortingly memorable in a way that his face in general was not. "I'm Edwin Read."

"Nice to meet you." The man and young man said in unison, prompting a spontaneous, short outburst of icebreaking laughter. Thomas gestured towards the interior of the room. "Please, come in, sit down."

Once they had done so, he fixed his daughter with an amused eye. "I believe you had something you were interested in telling me?"

"Oh yeah! You'll never believe what just happened! You know that guy, at Christmas, that Lily self-Transfigured herself into –" at the word 'self-Transfigured', she glanced at Edwin, as if to verify that that was indeed the correct word to use. _My word … is she overcoming her grudge against magic at last?_ "– you know, the one that told off that evil guy before the senile old fool came?"

"Yes, I remember …" _The question is, why do you? … What have you gotten yourself into now, Harry?_

"Well, I just met him in the hallway! And it was really odd, you know, I hadn't really noticed the resemblance before, but then he started mouthing off at me …" Thomas winced, barely perceptibly. For all his well-meaning prying, he had been literally unable to drag anything more out of Harry about his life outside of Hogwarts (not that he'd been terribly forthcoming about Hogwarts at times, either …) than that he lived with Petunia, her husband (that Vernon character she'd been dating recently), and their son.

So, while it was usually out of character to think of gentle Harry as 'mouthing off' at someone … Thomas suspected that where his daughter was concerned, Harry had suppressed more than a few anger issues.

"And then I realized that he looked _just_ like that lazy good-for-nothing Lily's so proud of …"

"– what have I told you about making fun of your sister's boyfriend?"

"Don't do it where she can hear?" Petunia grinned.

"Petunia …"

"Oh, okay, fine. _Anyway_ …" This more than a little exasperated. "… it occurred to me. He's Lily's son with that – guy – of hers from the future! I just know it! And he ran off with this awful look on his face when I said so, so it _must_ be true!"

Edwin interjected, "I think that was more from seeing Snape appear from a corner the way he did. He's the scariest person in seventh form, you know – even _I'd_ be afraid of meeting him in a dark hallway alone. It's no wonder … Harry, right? … ran off like that!"

"Severus was there?" Thomas was now sure that the pit of his stomach had officially relocated itself to somewhere around his ankles.

_This is bad …_

* * *

Transfiguration hadn't stood a chance.

Neither had anything else, really … he had discovered within himself new reserves of strength; specifically the strength of will it took to push all extraneous thought away, burying himself in work. It occurred to him at one point that perhaps that was why Lupin was such a good student … if _he_ had been a werewolf, after all, he was sure that he'd be doing his best to avoid thinking about the subject, too.

But thoughts of Lupin led to other unacceptable thoughts, so those too were shut away. He would _not_ think about it again, he would _not_ test the barrier again – an act remarkable in its similarity to prodding an open wound (one that hadn't even begun to scab over, at that).

Even when they possessed nothing else, Snapes retained their pride. That lesson had been drilled into him at an early age; it was a part of his personality now. No matter what other arguments he might have with his parents – on most of their other child-raising choices, for instance – he agreed on that count.

And he'd be _damned_ if he was going to lose that too.

A knock at the door that he resolutely ignored, knowing that it was not the one person he would actually consider letting in. Yet then there was the whisper of the bottom of the door brushing the carpet, and a sudden charged, expectant silence.

"Oh, you're here after all." A familiar voice chirped, and he fought the urge to bury his face in his hands. "When you didn't answer the door, I wasn't sure … then I remembered you had given me the password." Although he was still resolutely turned away, he could still see out of the corners of his eyes the sheepish face the other boy made.

 _I did, didn't I … oh,_ smart _move, Snape …_

Their past few sessions had eroded away most of Pettigrew's nervousness around the lanky Slytherin; he no longer acted _quite_ so much like a small rodent that had been mesmerized by a cobra. So with only slight hesitation, he moved further into the room, flopping down into his seat and in the same movement slinging down the bag he had taken to carrying his supplies around in, pulling it up a moment before it hit the ground with only a small thud.

"So, where were we?"

"I'm done." Severus replied shortly.

That seemed to nonplus him for a moment. "Well, then, could you help me with the third exercise? I'm not quite sure what she means when she says –"

"Pettigrew, please leave." _And take the memories with you …_

The other boy stared at him. Honestly, it wasn't like it was _that_ hard a concept to comprehend. Leave. It was even a one syllable word – even a _Hufflepuff_ should be able to understand that. _Hufflepuff. No, that's a bad direction, too._ "All right, Snape, spill. What's wrong?"

He pierced his yearmate with a look that had – or should have had – 'Why aren't you gone yet?' written all over it. "Nothing."

Instead of quailing (or, even better, getting up and leaving the way he was supposed to), the foolish Gryffindor crossed his arms, planted himself even more firmly and pointedly in his chair, and countered with a not-half-bad glare of his own. "Oh, yeah. I'm sure. Because you're acting just exactly like you always do." And now sarcasm. He was beginning to get the feeling that he had seriously underestimated the most unprepossessing of the Marauders.

"Believe me, I'm acting _exactly_ like I always do." He surprised himself with the bitterness that leaked out between the words; surprised himself even further when he actually allowed the additional words to spill out. "Sarcastic, prideful, aloof, friendless, Slytherin _git_."

"You're not friendless!" Pettigrew protested immediately. Under Severus' frankly disbelieving gaze, he reddened alarmingly but remained adamant. "It's true. I'm your friend, assuming you'll have me … I suspect Remus wouldn't mind either … and even if you won't accept either of us, surely you _know_ Harry's your friend!"

"No. He's not." Severus could feel his gaze shuttering; what little emotion that had been leaking out onto his face before completely shutting off. And he couldn't help but look away from that earnest face.

A long, silent moment passed. Pettigrew finally said, so quietly it was almost merely subvocalized. "It's Harry, isn't it. Your problem has something to do with Harry."

 _Shut up. Shutupshutupshutup_. He wanted to hex the Gryffindor for being so perceptive. Or perhaps himself, for being so easy to read. "It's none of your business."

A fist crashed on his desk, startling him into looking at Pettigrew again. Getting caught by the power of the feeling in those eyes, broadcast out for anyone to see. He could not imagine being so open. " _Damn_ it, Snape, don't do this to me. If you won't accept that I'm your friend, know that I'm Harry's. And I know that whatever happened to affect you this deeply, _has_ to have affected him as well."

A deep, calming breath that didn't accomplish its purpose. " _I care for you both_. So stop acting like you got your overweening pride shoved up your _ass_ and tell me what's wrong, so _maybe_ we can actually _fix it_ , instead of you just sitting here _wallowing_!"

"I'm not wallowing!" He protested, voice rising in volume to match the other's.

"Well that's what it looks like to me." Pettigrew scoffed. "Besides … what _other_ force known to man could have induced you to finish all your Transfiguration homework early?"

Severus snorted. That was his first mistake. Because suddenly, he found himself laughing, deeply and loudly and more than a bit hysterically, until his chest hurt and he could feel the tears running down his cheeks and the tilting of balance that warned him that falling out of his chair entirely was a distinct possibility.

"Seriously …" Pettigrew finally said, after the laughter finally wound down and they had both caught their breaths. "… I want to help if I can."

Laughter, Severus found, did odd things to his head. He was still slightly breathless, and definitely lightheaded; and he knew he _certainly_ wouldn't be saying anything if he were in his right mind. "It's … there's not much you can help with. I found out something about Harry that he didn't want me to know … and reacted exactly the way he expected me to."

"I take it this was not a good reaction." A dry statement of fact.

"You could say that." A bark of laughter that seemed torn from him – that's certainly what it felt like. _You could also call that the understatement of the century …_ "I'm also afraid he probably misinterpreted at the time, making my reaction out to be worse than it actually was."

"So have you explained this to him?" One look. "You haven't, have you." The blond head came forward to rest on the edge of the desk with a barely audible thunk. The next few words were a bit muffled. "Do you really _want_ to drive him away permanently?"

"No …" Severus whispered, speaking from his heart, for once (like most of the rest of this conversation, actually …) not stopping to think about the benefits or the consequences of his actions. "But … you don't understand …"

"What is there to understand? You go to him, get things straightened out, and you're friends again. Heck, you know how to do that weird telepathy thing; you could solve the whole situation without even moving from your desk!"

"No. I can't." He could feel his barriers beginning to close again, feel himself beginning to return to normal. "He threw up a wall between us. And I keep going back to it … but it's impenetrable. I tried to talk with him … I'm not sure he even knows I made the attempt."

"He doesn't want to be hurt again." Pettigrew said quietly. "Whatever happened between you – I'm not even going to ask, since I doubt you'd tell me and I doubt even more that Harry would want me to know – it sounds like your reaction probably hurt him very badly. And he probably thinks you still feel that way."

A raised eyebrow. "I doubt you've seen him in person since this 'event', have you? You've probably just hidden here in your room and brooded."

"I don't brood."

The stupid Gryffindor laughed in his face. "My friend, you brood more than anyone else I know. But anyway … he probably thinks you still feel the same way as your initial reaction, right? So it stands to reason that the only response to his opening up to you would be more disgust, hatred, whatever. And he doesn't want to have to cope with that."

Put that way, it actually made a great deal of sense. "Then … what do I do?" _Taking advice from a Gryffindor … on how to patch up my relationship with another Gryffindor … just when was it that I lost any semblance of control over my life?_

 _Oh, right. When I met Harry._ And, lack of control or no … he wouldn't trade a moment of it for the world.

Pettigrew was rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Oh, for … haul your butt out of this room for once. Look for him. Find him. Corner him, if you must. There's not much he can do to erect a wall against _that_."

* * *

He hesitated before the door, feeling more than a little nervous. The only other times he had been here (which he could probably count on one hand), it had been because Harry had dragged him here, for some reason or another … recently, he'd stopped, choosing (Severus assumed) to drag the werewolf instead.

Severus had never really understood the ghost's attachment to the older man … sure, he'd heard the story of how they'd gotten to know each other when Harry had been stuck in Evans' head, but still … their feelings for each other, whatever they were, seemed a bit too deep, with too solid a foundation, for as short a time as they must have had together.

But now …

It was amazing, how much sense Harry's identity made, when applied to quite a number of basic puzzles. Why he – the future himself – had hated him so virulently, for one … that sort of grudge, Severus could easily see himself as bearing, though he knew full well that that didn't reflect terribly well on him as a person. For another, why it was that Harry knew so much and seemed to feel so deeply about this specific group of people – they weren't just strangers, or the younger iterations of famed martyrs and despised teachers, but a very real part of his history.

Especially with eyes like Harry's, eyes that he had seen on only one other human (though it was his personal belief that Harry pulled them off with a great deal more panache), it was inconceivable to think of James Potter as procreating (and _Merlin_ , that was a scarring thought … even worse than the thought of himself having children!) with anyone other than Lily Evans.

Which meant that Thomas Evans wasn't just some random man that Harry had struck up a friendship with because he had been feeling friendless and alone (stuck in Evans' head, who could blame him?), but his grandfather, one he had no memories of being alive. And judging from their relationship, it seemed quite possible that Mr. Evans _knew_ , too. (In fact, the only thing that kept him from marking that off as a complete certainty was Severus' firsthand knowledge of how religiously Harry kept his secrets – and just how damn good he was at doing so.)

He shook his head sadly, smirking wryly at himself. He had never thought himself as a person particularly inclined towards woolgathering … yet it seemed that he would go to some pretty great lengths to avoid having to deal with Harry – and, more specifically, trying to repair the damage he had done to his relationship with the younger boy. _Not_ precisely his forte.

He knocked tentatively, and was not quite sure whether to be relieved or simply more nervous when the door went ahead and opened almost immediately. "Mr. Snape." The auburn-haired man ventured cautiously. "Please, come in."

Once inside, however, the door closed with a finality that Severus found disturbing – the sort of finality that spawned flowery metaphors about tombs. "What do you want?" The older man asked, and this time there was a very definite edge of steel to his tone.

Severus grabbed his courage in both hands (perhaps not Gryffindor courage, but it would have to do), took a deep breath, and spoke. "I was wondering if you knew where Harry was?"

"Why do you want to know?" Even the illusion of velvet had disappeared, and Severus was suddenly struck with the realization that no, you did not have to be a wizard to be (or seem) quite dangerous.

In reaction to the sudden rise in perceived danger level, Severus' Slytherin instincts rose closer to the fore; he answered cautiously, "I … discovered something about him – on accident, mostly, though it was partly my fault as well – that he didn't really want me to know … and I reacted badly. And, well … Iwantedtoapologizetohimfortreatinghimthatway."

"What sort of thing?" The Muggle asked, deceptively offhandedly.

Severus eyed him with suspicion. "A private thing. I suspect you already know … but if you don't, I won't be the one to tell you. That's Harry's choice."

"You said you reacted badly to the revelation … how do you feel about it now?"

"… like a royal idiot." Severus finally admitted, after a long silence. "It was … well, even to begin with, I don't think my reaction was as bad as he thought it was … more, complete shock than anything else …" he paused. "Afterwards, it dawned on me just how irreparably stupid I had been … Harry is Harry, no matter what his … well, that information. It doesn't make that much of a difference. Or shouldn't." Argh … and now he was tripping over his words again. _Gee, Snape … you make that sound like a new thing …_ "Or … I won't let it."

"Commendable intentions."

A wry twist made its way onto Severus' mouth, but he said nothing to directly contradict the older man. _And a little force helpfully applied in the person of – what else – a Gryffindor that, I'm sure, will someday drive me insane …_

Thomas gestured towards the quartet of comfortable, burgundy chairs grouped off to the side of the room. "I'm afraid Harry's not around right now, but he's been spending quite a bit of time here lately … he'll probably be back eventually. You're welcome to wait."

Severus nodded his thanks, moving over to sit gingerly in one of the chairs, and was mildly surprised to see Evans' father come over to join him, sitting in the chair across from his. "Hey, you know … couldn't you do that telepathy thing?" The man broke the not entirely awkward silence that had fallen.

Severus looked away. "I tried …" he admitted quietly. "But I can't. Ever since … well, _then_ … he's built this amazingly strong wall between us. I can't reach him like that … not without trying to force the wall down. And I don't want to do that to him."

"I take it that's why you haven't done the little fiddling trick, either?"

The Slytherin nodded again. It had been hard, controlling himself to the extent necessary to avoid that – in most cases, so habitual as to be nearly involuntary set of movements. But he knew Harry would … well, no, he really had no clue what Harry would do if he found himself intentionally trapped in Severus' mind without prior consultation. But he had a sneaking suspicion it would not be pretty. And at this point, the _last_ thing he wanted to do was alienate the spirit further. _I've done enough of that lately as it is …_

"Picking up new bad habits to compensate?" Thomas asked, amusement lighting his face. Severus belatedly realized that he had been drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair, and even more belatedly stopped.

"… Something like that …" He grumbled, not entirely sure why he had dignified that with a response in the first place. _Damn Gryffindors … I'm going to lose my edge completely before this is through._

The amusement was still there. "I take it you're not much of one for small talk."

Severus almost breathed a sigh of relief at being back on familiar grounds. "Slytherins don't _do_ small talk."

"So you're really looking to perpetuate that link between Slytherin and being evil, aren't you?" The man shrugged. "Though personally, even if I was an evil Slytherin, I'd learn to use small talk, in addition to being as close to the perfect gentleman as I could manage. Seems to me that _that_ would be far more effective at gaining one's target's trust and putting them off guard – which, in turn, I'd think would make life significantly easier."

Severus just _stared_ , for a long moment. _Why … I do believe I_ like _him._ He couldn't help the slow grin threatening to take form on his face, as he shook his head. "It's really a shame you're a Muggle, Mr. Evans … you would have made a _brilliant_ Slytherin."

"Says you." Came a laughing, terribly familiar voice from behind.

He nearly shot from his seat, checked the motion, and ended up coming back down sideways with a _whomp_ that rattled his bones, as he looked up at Harry.

The spirit stifled a quick smile at Severus' undignified landing, before going very solemn as the two shared a long look. Severus tried to put into that look everything he felt; the shock at the revelation, the last thing he would have expected even though the clues were all there; the fact that the disgust had been directed more at himself – at the person he would someday become – for being so foolish as to get stuck on the name and never be willing to learn about the person hidden underneath; the empty place that had developed somewhere near where he supposed his heart must reside when it seemed like he had lost the Harry's friendship for good.

In return, he saw the pain he had caused by his reaction and cautious hope. It was that hope that galvanized him, that gave him the courage to stand again (more carefully, this time). "I …"

"You. You're the one who hurt Harry." And there was Lupin; for the first time since that dark night he tried his best to forget, he looked at the other seventh-year and saw, very clearly, the wolf glaring through those unnatural amber eyes.

"Remus, no …" he heard Harry as if from a distance; all his attention was now focused on the werewolf.

"Yes. I hurt Harry." He accepted the accusation calmly, knowing it to be truth. "But it was never my intention to. It was a shock, and I never react well to shock … I didn't fully understand what I had done until it was far too late to change."

It was the flare of hope that he couldn't have possibly seen in the other's eyes that brought his attention to the breakdown of the mental barrier between them. His eyes were drawn inexorably towards Harry's. "I'm sorry I overreacted. And even more sorry that my dignity kept me from coming to straighten matters out long before now."

_:You truly don't mind? That I'm a Potter?:_

Severus cast his mind back to a certain thought he had had on the subject of life debts and, while he managed to muffle the threatening smile, could not quite manage to catch the thread of amusement that escaped across the link. _:Other than an increased certainty that I was placed on this Earth for the sole purpose of having the Gods laugh at me …:_ He tried to express some of his blazing conviction across the link; wasn't sure how well he'd succeeded. _:You're still Harry, Harry.:_

 _:I'm glad.:_ The relief and joy blazed across the link in counterpoint to the bland words. _:I … and I'm sorry, that I couldn't have enough faith in you to believe that you would accept me for who I am.:_

 _:If I had known before I got to know_ you _… your faith would probably have been entirely justified. I am a particularly prejudiced individual in certain cases – and the Potter line is one such case.:_

The former fourth-year pursed his lips. _:Can I … ask you something? You don't have to agree, it's just … I figure my mum and dad –:_

 _:Could you not call them that?:_ Severus interrupted, wincing slightly. _Bad mental images. Ugh._

 _:– hmm, yeah. Sorry. I figure James and Lily will have children someday, even if they don't have a son named Harry James Potter. Just … if their child or children ever come here, could you look out for them a little? Help them see that life isn't just Gryffindor and pranks?:_ A pause that gave the impression of blinking. _:That is … if you're teaching here the way you were back in my world.:_

 _:I'd much rather see if I could go into some sort of research and development outfit.:_ Severus agreed. _:But … surely you'll be around still, too? You seem to be drawn to this era, maybe you can settle down and stay once we get Dumbledore off your back.:_

 _:The gods only know how this situation will turn out … I know I sure don't.:_ Was Harry's slightly weary reply. _:In some ways, I'd like to. Many ways. But … if I'm not …:_

_:I'll see what I can do.:_

_:Thank you.:_

"I'll … be leaving, then …" The werewolf's uncertain voice impacted only minimally on them both; Thomas' soft "That might be best for now" hardly more so.

"So …" They both began, then laughed a little – well, Severus was chuckling, but that was still more or less in line with the general feeling. Harry came around and sat down in a third of the four chairs in a manner that spoke of long familiarity with the area; with that cue, Severus sat back down as well.

"I'm sorry for underestimating you and all … I should have been more trusting." Harry repeated, cheeks tinged pink from embarrassment.

"Indeed you should." Severus sniffed. "Honestly, Harry, you're a _Gryffindor_. Leave paranoia to the professionals."

"What, Slytherin?" He quipped, the smile slowly making its way back onto his face. "But … really …"

"I'll cut you a deal." Severus interrupted, not eager to hear yet another apology. _Foolish Gryffindor … it's like he doesn't even_ realize _that_ I'm _the one entirely in the wrong_. "I'll forgive you if you stop apologizing."

The smile quirked briefly. "All right." He leaned back in his chair. "You know … I just want you to know, that even though I wasn't able to trust you enough to tell you my secret … I do trust you to keep it."

"Nothing less than Veritaserum could force me to give it up." He pledged.

"I just wish I knew for sure that the same could be said of Aunt Petunia and –" he paused, stumped.

"Read?" Severus offered. When no decrease in incomprehension made itself known, he clarified. "Edwin Read? The Hufflepuff?"

"– yeah, Edwin, that was it."

Thomas came over, folding himself into his original chair. "I've had a talk with them, and I _think_ I've impressed on them the seriousness of the situation."

Harry made a face. "Well … if they had told anyone, it would be all over school already, I suppose. I guess it makes a difference that Aunt Petunia doesn't really have anyone around to be gossipy _with_."

"So that girl was your aunt?" Severus asked. _… you and your husband and your stupid_ pig _of a son_.

Harry nodded shortly. "I had not believed it, but it seems that she grew worse with age … right now, she is actually almost … bearable. Perhaps it is the lack of Uncle Vernon."

Thomas grunted. "I wouldn't be surprised. That boy … well, there's nothing _wrong_ with him, that I can see, per se … but everything I've seen of him tends to indicate that he's quite close-minded. And I think the more Petunia hung around him, the more her own inclinations in that direction developed."

Harry laughed. "No, Uncle Vernon never did have much use for us freaks."

"Just as well, then, that they seem to have cut it off …"

The auburn-haired man was cut off by precisely the daughter under discussion as she flopped down into the fourth chair. "No need to be diplomatic, Dad. He dumped me, simple as that." She raised an eyebrow. "Not, you understand, that I'm trying to perpetuate the illusion that who I go out with is any of your concern whatsoever – or his."

Harry regarded the ceiling. "It would have been nice to have had some input in who I got dumped on in about four years' time … not that I was precisely lucid, yet, but the thought would still have been appreciated." He blinked at Petunia. "Hopefully, you won't have to worry, since I'm hoping to find some way to nip the whole Voldemort-killing-my-family thing in the bud."

"Lily died?" Petunia's eyes widened.

"I'm told that I – and presumably your mother – was originally slated to die last Christmas Eve, as well." Her father added cheerfully.

"Am I the _only_ one in the family who survived?" Petunia asked, voice pitched higher than usual.

"Well … Vernon's sister Marge came and visited occasionally …" Harry offered. "Any other cousins on your side of the family – are there any? – either were dead, far away, or liked you and Uncle Vernon and Dudley about as much as I did."

Oddly, Petunia reacted only with a bit of a thoughtful frown to his insulting implication. She then abruptly stood. "I think I need to go … think. For a while." She retreated into her room, but then only moments later reappeared, wearing a black robe a bit too long for her with the Hufflepuff patch sewn in on the left.

At the other three's considering stares, she flushed. "He lent me one of his robes. It's just camouflage. Honestly!" And, burning even redder, stalked out.

Severus' gaze, following her, was frankly speculative. "Methinks you may not have a problem with Uncle Vernon after all."

Harry shrugged. "That's good, I suppose … in any case, either way it's over and done with for me. Not much I can do to change things in my own past."

Severus understood _that_ feeling. _Am I really considering …? Ah, what the hell … the worst thing he could do is refuse me again._ He cleared his throat self-consciously. "On the subject of family … now that I _do_ know your secret … I was wondering …"

Harry smiled, very faintly. "That was an important secret, but I don't know that you'd even call it my biggest one …" A moment of clear indecision. "… but I would love to, if you'll still have me."

Severus smiled, truly smiled, and was surprised at just how good it felt. "Of course! After all, being stuck as a _Potter_ … what sane, merciful individual _wouldn't_ do their best to free you from such horror?"

Despite himself, Harry grinned.

* * *

The common room was too noisy, the library too oppressively quiet. The lake and the grounds, despite the still moderately chilly temperatures, were too well populated by people – most of them too happy. And the Quidditch pitch …

… Well. It was just too … Harry. And despite the (very) predictable way his thoughts seemed to be headed … he didn't want to do his thinking somewhere that reminded him quite so … _pointedly_ of Harry.

His wandering feet finally stopped him down near the gamekeeper's hut. … Hagrid, that was his name. This was a place he had not come near often, preferring to keep his distance from the man who was said to have a penchant for all sorts of dangerous creatures. He would be just the sort of person to recognize Remus for who – or, more precisely, _what_ – he really was …

He exhaled a deep, heartfelt sigh – exactly what feelings, even he wasn't entirely sure – as he sat down, leaning back against a handy fencepost and gazing contemplatively up at the cloudy sky. Grey. It seemed oddly appropriate at the moment.

 _All right, Remus John Lupin … what just crawled up_ your _ass and died?_

He couldn't think, offhand, of anything in particular that ought to be disturbing him … but, considering the frequency with which his thoughts seemed to be returning to the scene he had just left, it seemed a good guess that that had something to do with it.

He had rarely – and recently, even less than usual – subscribed to James and Sirius' assertion that everything is Snape's fault. In this case, however, he found himself making an exception. This was _clearly_ Snape's fault.

Dammit, he had _been_ there right after the fact; he had _seen_ just how broken up Harry was over whatever Snape had done. And it made his blood boil that he had just … _forgiven_ him. After a _half_ -decent (at best!) apology, Harry had just accepted him back like nothing had never happened!

And then they had just _stood_ there, staring into each other's eyes … like the rest of the world had just completely ceased to exist. (The more reasonable part of his mind noted that they had probably continued their conversation via the telepathic link Harry evidently had with the people whose bodies he shared, and that Snape might even have apologized better in the privacy of their heads. He did his best to ignore it.)

And Mr. Evans. Remus would be the first to admit the man was pretty cool, as adults went, but Harry seemed to go beyond that … and he still hadn't figured out what secret those particular two shared. It just made him …

He sighed, and his head somehow migrated into his open palms. _You know what your real problem is?_ He taunted himself. _You've grown used to having Harry around, and having him want to be around you. You're_ jealous _that he's spending time with other people – that these other people mean something to him too._

_And who wouldn't mean more to someone like Harry than a beast like me? It's only natural, him wanting to find others of his own kind to associate with. You've grown spoiled, werewolf._

He knew this, knew he should stand back and allow Harry to make his own decisions. _Especially since I don't know the whole story._ Knew that he _would_. But … Merlin … it was so _hard_ , watching his friend gaze soulfully into the Slytherin's eyes … so hard, repressing the anger and hurt that was his yet was also flowing from that part of his mind that he tried his hardest to control, that part that he identified with his werewolf identity.

He _shouldn't_ feel hurt. He _knew_ this. He knew Harry would never intentionally hurt him – first, because Harry just wasn't like that, and second because, whatever else, he liked to think the two of them were friends of a sort. He knew all this, but somehow …

… It didn't help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 May 2004  
> 9 September 2012  
> 19 April 2019


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey … sorry this is late. (though I suppose you all should be used to that by now …) Um … I finally saw the third movie (which, combined to listening to some of my Coexistence-earmarked music, is probably a large part of why this chapter is actually done now …) Can't think of anything else of note that really needs to be said at this point …
> 
> Other than HarryPotterdoesnotbelongtome and, of course, enjoy!
> 
> (11/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

The portrait looked just the way Edwin told her it would. A placid farm scene that reminded her fondly of one of the art pieces back at home – though after they had moved to their new place several years ago, those had all been stored in the attic, simply because no one could be bothered to figure out where and how to put them up.

Normal, that is, until the busty blonde good-natured looking woman (about as stereotypically the farmer's wife as they come) turned to look at her. Her brow furrowed. "I'm afraid I don't recognize you, dearie."

She tried to smile endearingly. "Yes, but Edwin told me all about you. So I simply had to come down and see you for myself."

"Ah, Edwin!" She looked positively thrilled. "That dear boy … and I suppose that's his robe you're wearing?" The woman winked at her, and Petunia found herself blushing, despite the fact that she knew their relationship was nothing like what was being implied. "And here I thought he'd _never_ find himself a girlfriend."

"I – we're – it's not like that …" She countered weakly, and received a doubtful look in return.

The picture seemed to decide to relent on her teasing. "I'm sorry, but I really can't let you in – that's what you wanted, right? – not without someone else vouching for you in person." Seeing Petunia's face fall, she made a sympathetic clucking noise. "Now, don't be like that … why don't you go to the library? I bet you could find at least one friend of yours there."

Petunia highly doubted it, considering that, being a Muggle, she knew no one here – with the exception of her sister, Edwin, and possibly that rude spirit-boy, Harry, and the scary-looking black-haired guy, Snape, she thought his name was? And only Edwin was Hufflepuff, and thus able to vouch for her. Well, she didn't know which House Harry was in. (Do spirits have Houses?) But she sincerely doubted it was Hufflepuff (not to mention the fact that she doubted he'd be willing to vouch for her even if he were). Still, she supposed there was no harm in trying.

After politely thanking the portrait, she turned back down the corridor from which she had come.

Now, all she had to do was _find_ the place …

* * *

First was the terribly unladylike snort, cut off suddenly by a belated attempt to suppress it. Then came the incredulous giggles, also carefully suppressed – this time with an apprehensive look towards the librarian – Pinch, was it? The odd name (but then, weren't nearly all of these wizarding names odd?) almost set off a new spate of laughter.

Finally – after yet another absurd passage, the straw that broke the camel's back – full-blown laughter, the sort that revived itself just as she thought she had suppressed it properly; laughter impervious to the librarian's strangely half-hearted glare – in fact, said glare could almost have been said to be responsible for making her laugh even harder.

"Mind if I ask what's so funny?" A girl with sun-highlighted medium brown hair, tied up in an untidy ponytail, and a kind-seeming face asked. "I could use a laugh."

Entirely incoherent, she did her best regardless, turning the moderately slim novel in the other girl's direction (gasping, at the same time, something even less coherent of which James Bond was the only phrase that came through at all clearly); careful to keep her finger on (or at least near) the offending passage.

Another girl she had not at first noticed – shorter and with dark hair and medium-brown skin, she seemed to have a tendency to fade into the other girl's shadow – peered over the shoulder of the first. And she was evidently the faster reader of the two, for just as the taller girl was beginning to grin, she frowned. "I'm … not sure I get it. That's a funny book, sure, I've read it myself. But there's nothing in particular funny about that passage … actually, you haven't really –"

"You can't use a TV to do _that_!" The other girl burst through her friend's rambling, as Petunia nodded her complete agreement. That might have been the end of it, except for the fact that, at that moment, the two – the dirty blonde and Petunia – made the mistake of making eye contact.

Several minutes later, after the giggles had finally slowed to a natural stop, the dirty blonde flopped unceremoniously into one of the several chairs around Petunia's table. "Elle Andersen." She stuck her hand out. "Don't mind Ronnie here … she's a pureblood, she can't help it."

"Pureblood … that's when both your parents were wizards – ah, a wizard and a witch, I mean – right?"

"Correct, technically." Elle said cheerfully. "Of course, in Ronnie's case, she's a _true_ pureblood – all umpteen bajillion of her ancestors were _also_ witches and wizards."

"Don't mind her." The second girl advised quietly, holding her hand out in a much more … decorous manner. "My family's only been 'pure', so to speak, since the early 1800s … not at all long, as far as those who really care about the subject are concerned. I'm Veronica Ha, by the way. You?"

"Petunia Evans." All three hands sort of collided in the middle, provoking another round of grins and giggles.

"Evans … that sounds familiar … not pureblood, though, I don't think …" Veronica – or Ronnie, as she seemed content to be called – seemed to be attempting to pin Petunia with an inquiring gaze; one that failed miserably due to the fact that it was also clearly abstracted by her continued attempt to place the name 'Evans'.

"Look at her, trying to fit you into one of her neat little pureblood holes." Elle jeered good-naturedly. "Let me guess, you're a fellow dirty mudblood."

Ronnie gasped.

Petunia narrowed her eyes in thought. "I believe the term is … Muggle?"

"Muggleborn." Elle corrected. "I guess you don't know … funny, I'd have thought you'd have learned the term by now, especially since some of the more bigoted of the Slytherins and Gryffindors tend to enjoy targeting us Hufflepuffs …" she gestured briefly to the yellow and black badge that adorned all three of their chests "… mudblood is a particularly crude and insulting word for Muggleborn."

Petunia shook her head. "No, I'm almost certain the word was 'Muggle'. Nonmagical person, right?"

"You mean …"

"I got it!" Ronnie snapped her fingers. "The Head Girl. She's an Evans, too. Redhead, first name Lily, or something like that, I think … any relation of yours?"

Petunia's face soured. "My sister. Unfortunately."

Ronnie suddenly grinned rather widely. "Ah, Gryffindor siblings … I don't know that I've ever known one that was even halfway bearable to his or her 'less fortunate'" the words the petite girl had put in air quotes simply dripped with delicate sarcasm "non-Gryffindor siblings. I know _my_ sister regularly drives me up the wall. I assume your sister follows that trend?"

"And driving Ronnie is crazy is a lot harder than it sounds." Elle interjected with an air of long experience.

"In spades." Petunia was happy to affirm her sister's unbearableness. For the first time, she realized with a spurt of surprise, she was almost beginning to feel at home in this place. Sure, it was drafty, and a lot darker than she preferred, especially at night (these people seemed to have completely missed out on the concept of 'electricity', and she wasn't entirely sure how well they grasped 'gas lamps', at that).

And Edwin was great and all. But these were girls. And it felt like it had been so long since she had just sat around with a couple of other girls and … talked. And giggled. And traded grievances. Hard to believe it had been mere months ago, if that. It seemed like another lifetime … as if she had been another person entirely then.

She remembered giggling with her old friends – and that's how she thought of them now, despite her attempts to keep herself from thinking that way; there was just some part of her that had been convinced, ever since that disastrous night when that man had shown up in his black robes and ordered her family's death, that she would never see the Muggle world again.

She had changed. Or perhaps the entire world had changed around her. Either way, she found herself having a hard time remembering the girl who had giggled over makeup and debated who the hottest guy on the football team was and snubbed another girl for wearing glasses – and being unable to afford any but the ugliest ones.

What did any of that matter, now, when any of them could be killed – hell, could have already been dead for months, and her simply having no way of knowing – in an instant, as her family would have been killed if not for the appearance of that spirit. The wars and death going on in the Muggle world – and that was the word that came to the tongue most easily, now; she no longer called it, with no second thought, _her_ world – were one thing … but this, this destruction hidden from the eye of most of the world … leaving her people terribly, horribly unprepared for the threat that could descend on them at any time …

With _that_ to think about, make up suddenly developed an odd tendency to lose its allure.

No hint of laughter remained at the table. "So who was it with you?" Elle asked softly. "Ronnie's lost cousins and an aunt … I haven't lost anyone yet, thank God, but my family's pure Muggle … somewhat harder to find and seen as less … worthy of note."

"That won't protect them." Petunia said bleakly. "Oh, maybe What's-His-Face won't come after them directly … but there's always the chance that they'll just happen to have the bad luck to live on a street that he decides to target that night … no, being a Muggle is no protection at all. It certainly wasn't for me."

She slammed to her feet. "Something needs to be done. Sure, I peeked in on your world a little bit through my sister – as little as possible, to tell the truth; I was quite happy to avoid like the plague anything that she was involved in – but it never occurred to anyone to mention to us that there was an evil wizard out for _our_ blood. So maybe we're not wizards; my dad could have gone out and bought a shotgun or something if he had known – had even guessed! – the magnitude of the threat.

"Instead, we would have died, _all_ of us, of that I have no doubt, if not for some sp – kid who appeared and delayed What's-His-Face long enough for the cavalry to arrive. _All_ of us would have died, not just my Muggleborn magical sister who was the only one who actually _knew_ anything about the monster.

"The Muggle world _needs to know_. They need to be able to actually _do_ something about the threat, dammit … instead of just hanging around in their homes like sitting ducks, completely unaware that there even _is_ a threat."

"What are you going to do about it?" The voice came from behind her; she somehow managed to whirl and jump approximately a foot off the ground at once. Behind – or, more precisely now, in front of – her, Edwin applauded. "That was quite an impressive jump. You're sure you've never done any accidental magic?"

"I'll leave that sort of nonsense for my sister." Petunia returned tartly, if not precisely as unkindly as the words might have been uttered. "100% pure Muggle, that's me."

Edwin pulled up a chair with a foot, slouching into it with equal informality but slightly less energy than Elle had, with a quick "Veronica. Arabella." to acknowledge the other two sitting at the table. "So … my previous question?"

A helpless gesture. "I don't know … I just know _something_ needs to be done. And since no one else seems likely to do it … _I will_."

"I'm with you." Elle said immediately. "I may not have done anything to protect my family before, but … I thought they were _safe_. Yet … what you have to say – or rant would be a better term – indicates my family is not as safe as I thought. And I will do anything to restore that safety and make it _real_."

Edwin nodded solemnly. "Muggleborn we may be … but there are some times where we still take on too many of the preconceptions of this world unquestioningly. For all that we were once Muggles, we have a tendency to approach problems in the magical ways we've been taught. We never did anything, not because we didn't want to, but because it never occurred to us to." Another nod, this one sharp. "I'm with you as well."

"It is my guess that most Muggleborns would agree with you." Ronnie added. "I … don't really have much to contribute, but if it helps … I'll support you too."

Elle again. "So, now you've got a core; we'll gather more, starting here in Hufflepuff of course but eventually branching out." She mock-saluted. "We'll have the people, General Evans. What's our plan?"

Petunia raised her eyes to the sky, imploring the ceiling of the library.

"Why do _I_ always get asked the hard ones?"

* * *

"Another Slytherin Rule – yes, that is a capital letter you hear – that you've made me break." Severus looked at Harry ruefully. "'Always be prepared' … well, I'm not at all prepared. I don't even have any of the necessary paperwork."

"So make do with a depressingly Gryffindoric sentiment." Harry grinned unrepentantly. "'It's the thought that counts'."

Severus' thunderous frown left no doubt at all in Harry's mind as to what the Slytherin's opinion of _that_ was.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Well, it's true, you know. Even if you don't have the means to make it official yet – and, considering that Dumbledore would inevitably manage to dig his way into any _official_ records and pinpoint you, that's actually probably for the best – just the fact that you offered means a lot to me."

Severus reached over to poke him in the chest gently. "That's because _you're_ depressingly Gryffindoric."

"Guilty as charged." Harry admitted cheerfully. "Don't worry about it, Severus. You're my brother now whether you like it or not. The legalities don't matter … and considering that I don't exist yet, are probably meaningless anyway."

Thomas coughed, and the two turned to him with questioning looks in their eyes. He waved them off. "Oh, nothing … just trying to imagine the reaction the appropriate Muggle authorities would have to this situation. 'Alright, you want to adopt this guy as your brother, whatever … birth year, please? Four years from now, right … _huh_?!'"

Thomas grinned, Severus snorted – a clearly amused snort – and Harry outright laughed. It was a remarkably congenial moment. The sort of moment that lasts for a while before it fades away just as gently as it came, leaving everyone with a reminiscent smile on their face. So when, for a moment, Thomas and Severus became aware that they could see the far wall through Harry's head, as he seemed to hesitantly … _flicker_ , it's reasonable that they didn't at first believe it.

In general, disappearances – and Harry's previous ones certainly seemed to follow that trend – tended to be in situations fraught with peril, of whatever sort; or at the very least significant angst. This disappearance was none of those things. As gentle and painless as the death of the moment could have been, he was simply …

Gone.

* * *

"What do you mean, he's _dead_!" The exclamation that bordered on becoming a shriek shook Harry, as it came on the heels of his realization that he was no longer with Severus and Thomas, shattering the precious peace of mind that had stolen over him for those few moments.

"I know anything else is beyond you, but I thought you were capable of understanding monosyllabic words, Mister Weasley."

Harry was torn between righteous indignation – that _was_ awfully harsh – and a sneaking amusement at Snape's way with words. Another thing death had given him, he supposed … just enough distance to be able to appreciate that Snape might be cutting and entirely too harsh … but he generally did so with at least a bit of subtle humor, even if the only one laughing (as it were) was himself.

"How did it happen, sir?" That, ever analytical (though with far redder eyes than usual … that, more than anything, stirred guilt in Harry's heart), was Hermione, steamrolling over Ron's incoherent spluttering.

Snape hesitated. "He … encountered You-Know-Who, and used a spell to destroy him that claimed his life in payment." A gesture towards a small urn sitting on the desk that looked vaguely familiar. "Leaving only … that."

Hermione blinked. "That sounds … yeah, Harry would do that." She smiled tearfully. "The great idiot."

Harry huffed. "What do you mean by – hey, where are _you_ going?"

The adults in the room simultaneously glanced in his direction, eyes widening; before returning their attention to the oblivious younger generation.

"If you don't mind, sir, I'll be leaving now." Hermione told Dumbledore, her tone (though slightly wavery) leaving no possibility of mistaking it for anything but a pointed statement of intention.

"But – We don't – You're going to trust _Snape_?!"

"Why would he lie?"

"I –" Ron faltered. He spun away, so only Harry saw his face crumple as he struggled valiantly for control, then ran from the room. The guilt that had begun niggling with Hermione's teary eyes and barely controlled voice crashed entirely when he saw how broken Ron had become. _Is this … just because of_ me _?_

Snape's eyes met his directly, and surprisingly nothing happened, except for a small, slow nod and a twitch of the head in the direction of the now-open door. Harry smiled weakly, giving his own nod before flitting out through the door. _Perhaps there is a bit of the old Severus in Snape after all …_

Appearing in the hallway outside the office, he looked in either direction. Nothing; Ron must already have turned a corner. He listened alertly, and thought for a moment that he heard a rush of footsteps, but they were quiet enough and Hogwarts a drafty enough old place that it would take someone far more experienced than himself to figure out exactly where the steps were coming from – or, more importantly, going. _So, knowing Ron, where is he likely to have gone?_

Deciding to be methodical about it, he figured the first place to go would be their dorm room – that would be a good place for Ron to go for privacy, odd as it might seem: the five of them had learned quite early that when someone drew their curtains, they generally didn't want to be bothered; and most of the time they were good at respecting that wish.

Taking another contemplative look around the area, he tried to recall exactly where Gryffindor Tower was in relation to the office. No luck. Finally, with a shrug, he bent down (for effect, if nothing else – not like he was standing on anything) and sprang through the ceiling.

Two bathrooms (girls' bathrooms, the both of them, of course, but thankfully both empty), a dark empty room and several hallways later, he was to the Fat Lady's portrait. Blasting through the common room, he took the stairs only in that he flowed through the ceiling of the various stairwells on his way up, finally ending just outside his former dorm room.

A deep breath as he entered, to try to quell the rising anxiety. _This is stupid. What am I feeling anxious about? It's not like anything I say or do will have any effect on him._

Another, sharper stab of that feeling as he reached the curtains across the bed – and yes, they were drawn in, forming a barrier between Ron and the rest of the world. Tentatively, he stuck his head in. There was Ron, sitting up … with something that looked a lot like a photo album in his lap. As he drifted closer, he saw that it was indeed a photo album. _His_ photo album.

"You look so happy in that picture." Ron whispered as he peered closely at one of Harry's personal favorites. His father tossed him up in the air and caught him; his mother stood, caught eternally in a moment between scolding her husband and laughing herself, and baby Harry? His shrieks of delight – for that was obviously what his mouth was shaping – were so perfectly captured that if one listened closely, they could almost hear an echo of the ageless sound.

"I still remember the first time I met you, you know. I had almost managed to forget it … as I'm sure you could guess, given how I acted towards you at times this year." Ron grimaced. "I thought you – that is, Harry Potter – would be in that compartment … but when I glanced in, all I saw was a little kid about my age, in clothes even worse than my own, who looked at me and was _envious_." A half smile. "Awful of me, I know … that I recognized you as a friend in those first seconds simply because you were the only person I had ever met who really, desperately wanted something _I_ had."

He peered at the picture again. "I'm sorry we never took many pictures. Now … this is all I have to remember you by." A sudden, barked laugh. "Well, that and the newspaper clippings. I ought to be able to dig up that one of you and Lockhart _some_ how." Harry shuddered, remembering that particular episode. Merlin, _that man_ … "And I suppose I could probably buy a couple hundred off Creevey … and here I thought the annoying brat would never have a use." There was a reluctant smile in his tone now.

"But truly, I don't know that you were ever that happy … there were happy times, yes, brief golden moments that seemed a lot less frequent than the bad times. But even then, the bad, whether past or looming in the future, had a certain tendency to overshadow the good. Heck, it even affected me, and we all know how dense I am … but I know it affected you most of all.

"I … I wish you hadn't felt like you had to get rid of Voldemort alone, at the expense of your life. I wish you had held your life in a bit higher regard than that. And I wish you had been as happy here as you were then." He folded in on himself, his next words coming out muffled. "Damn it, Harry … did you ever think that _we_ would miss you? Did you _ever_ stop and consider how large a hole you'd be leaving in the hearts of those of us who remain?"

 _No … I didn't. I didn't realize …_ Harry had grown more and more pensive as Ron continued to speak. He still believed that a few people's grief was far better than the many innocent deaths that would have come if Voldemort had been allowed to survive. But … the decision, in retrospect, seemed no longer as clear cut as when he originally made it.

"Of course he didn't." A sharp voice cut in. "He's the epitome of Gryffindor – not to mention the fact that practically since he appeared in this world, everyone has been expecting him, and only him, to be the one to cause the Dark Lord's final defeat. What would you expect?"

If there was anyone Ron wanted least to witness him falling apart like this, it would be the person who just happened to be right in front of him, having pulled back the curtains – an extreme breach of conduct in and of itself – and who showed a disturbing tendency to be about to actually sit down on the bed. "Snape!"

"Yes. Me." The comment was made with a bit less cutting sarcasm than usual – but then, Ron wasn't really in a proper state to appreciate that. "He's still around. Sitting right across the bed from you at the moment, actually."

A strangled noise that probably should have been a laugh. "Are you trying to _comfort_ me, Snape? Why the _hell_ should I … I just … go away."

"Five points from Gryffindor for language and disrespecting a professor." The adult snapped automatically. "Look, Mr. Weasley. I don't want to be here any more than you do. I'm just trying to help."

"You can take your help and _shove it_."

It was a small enough sigh to slip beneath the notice of the upset Gryffindor, but a sigh it still was. With a deliberately uncaring shrug, Snape stood, making eye contact – again to no effect – with Harry over his friend's head. "I tried." And he swept away.

And Harry, feeling more helpless than ever, continued his silent vigil over his broken friend.

* * *

Time passed; between his lengthy monologue and the following outburst at Snape, Ron seemed to have exhausted his facility (admittedly a small one, as Harry and Hermione had been known to joke) with words; he lapsed into a depressive silence.

At one point Hermione summoned up the courage – more likely spurred on by worry about how Ron was taking Harry's death – to barge into the boys' dorm area … she paused apprehensively for nearly a minute just outside Ron's curtained barrier but, heartened by the sliver of open space Snape's departure had left (and Ron had been too unmotivated to reclose), eventually peeked in.

That conversation was short and mostly one-sided. Hermione made an honest, valiant effort at comforting Ron; all she received was the blunt end of his tongue … in her state Harry was surprised that she wasn't lashing back just as painfully. It was what he would probably have done in her place – but then, Hermione had a far greater ability to pigeonhole things; she had probably shoved her own grief onto the back burner when faced with the problem of how to help Ron deal with his.

Even she failed, however, stalking off after bidding Ron a mostly cordial goodbye (with, tacked onto the end, the earnest wish that he pull his head out of his ass and realize he wasn't the only one grieving – preferably soon). Still pale, still silent, and yet to let the tears he was hiding fall, Ron quietly got up, digging through Harry's trunk again (he thought he should probably be offended … but it was somehow impossible). Shortly thereafter, he curled up halfway beneath the covers, Harry's first Weasley sweater clutched as tightly as any stuffed animal.

Ron was an inveterate snorer. Harry and his roommates had learned quickly that it was best for all of them if Ron went to sleep last – otherwise, he'd likely be the only one getting any. This night, however (at least, he expected it was probably night … there wasn't much light coming through the shades), he slept almost disturbingly silently.

And the moisture in his eyes that had lingered, just far enough back, up until this point, slowly pooled in the corners of each eye and dripped away.

* * *

Harry was finding, in 'ghost form', that he had no real need for sleep, much less sustenance – those simple human necessities were beyond him, now. Still, he found that he could drop into at least a light doze when he tried (though several times, just as he was about to fall asleep, he would jolt back awake because of the disturbing silence that filled the room – Ron not snoring made rather more of a difference than he had expected).

He probably shouldn't have tried … but even if he didn't need sleep anymore, he was human enough to feel tired, even though the physical basis for that particular condition no longer existed. So nap he did, and awoke to find Ron gone. Given that it was (possibly) morning, Harry was not terrible surprised nor worried – and even if it was still the middle of the night, there was no real cause for alarm; Ron had been known to sleepwalk.

The note on the pillow, however, was a somewhat more worrying development. Simple and direct, it consisted of only two sentences: _Gone to right a wrong. Don't follow._

A wrong, Harry had a sinking feeling, that had something to do with his death. He huffed a sigh. _Of course … things never turn out the easy way, now do they? Even my death was far more complicated than I expected …_

He knew he ought to find and inform an adult. It was the right – not to mention the intelligent – thing to do. But what could he say? It's not like they'd be able to do anything other than search without knowing where he'd gone, and without any clues … it would be like searching for a needle in a very large haystack. Especially if Ron had left Hogwarts. No, better to do some investigating himself first.

Flitting through the castle took some time, but not a whole lot; in the end he found himself reasonably certain that Ron had, in fact, left the building. This was … worrisome. Back in the dorm, he sat cross-legged on (a few inches above, to be perfectly honest, but close enough for government work) Ron's bed, in preparation for an experiment he planned on trying before going any further.

As he sat, he found himself closing his eyes, breathing deeply, and resting his hands on his knees, much like those inspirational meditation how-to videos Aunt Petunia would occasionally watch when none of her favorite soaps were on. Exactly why, he wasn't quite sure – probably for the favorable dramatic feel to the situation, if anything. As he sank into himself, he focused all his thoughts on Ron. Picturing him, remembering the way he talked, the way he moved, his little fidgety habits … all the things that made Ron, Ron.

And with a sudden outburst of emotion, a thunderous mental force that reminded him briefly of those moments when he was just so _angry_ that the power would reach out and act beyond his will, he shunted his thoughts to a shout (though no sound exited his mouth), a demand that would brook no defiance: _Take me_ there _!_

With no physical body to displace air, no pop signified his departure. He simply – disappeared.

* * *

"I thought I would find you here, you little rat. After all, it would take imagination – not to mention _intelligence_ – to move away from the scene of the crime."

Eyes flicked around the small room – by a stroke of bad luck, he had been cornered in one of the smallest rooms in the large house overlooking the graveyard to which Ron had been transported. His wand had been efficiently confiscated, leaving him effectively powerless. (Not for the first time did he curse his Master for insisting on having Anti-Apparition wards set up around the entirety of the house. There was a small loophole for summoned Death Eaters to Apparate into and out of – but of course, that was halfway across the house, not to mention up a few flights of stairs, from here.) So, cornered, he fell back on one of the primary tenets of his philosophy of life: When in doubt, grovel.

"My former master!" He exclaimed with every evidence of pleasure. "It's been a while, hasn't it? Surely you'll show me the kindness due such an old friend …"

"The same kindness you showed Harry?" Ron hissed. "By actively aiding the return of You-Know-Who – oh yes, we know _all_ about that – and just _standing by_ when he died?" He barked a harsh laugh. " _You_ are not worth the effort it would take to spit on you."

He twitched nervously. "But I was your faithful rat … you wouldn't kill me, would you? It's not what Harry would want …"

"Don't speak that name." Ron made a violent gesture, as if he wanted to strike the older man. Though he made no overt movement towards Wormtail, the man cringed backwards from the sheer force of the younger Gryffindor's hatred. "Don't you _ever_ speak that name. I'm not going to kill you, no, but don't you dare think it's because I feel any mercy or pity for you.

"I'm going to take you exactly where you should have gone a year ago. And this time, Professor Lupin isn't here to save you with an ill-timed transformation."

The twitching increased, as did the shifting of his eyes as the true import of his situation crashed down on Wormtail. He could see the determination that filled every line of Ron's body, the hatred that boiled, barely leashed, behind his clear eyes. Then he fell suddenly still as he saw something … _unbelievable_ appear behind and a bit to the right of Ron. "H-harry …?"

"What did I say?"

"But – Harry – he's –"

"Why, Peter?" Harry asked, as Wormtail's eyes continued to widen. "Why did you do it?" _Why couldn't you have remained the sweet Peter I'm actually happy to have known?_

"Sweet Harry … so much like your father … you'll show me mercy, won't you? You'll talk some sense into your friend, won't you, for me?"

The groveling reminded the ghost quite forcibly of his first encounter with the rat in human form, and any feelings towards this Wormtail that had carried over from his friendship with the younger Peter dissipated abruptly. _This man is not my friend. My friend no longer exists in this world, if he ever did._

"One small problem with that, _Wormtail_." The expression decorating Harry's face could be called a smirk, if one was disposed to judging such expressions extremely kindly. "You see … you can see me … but he can't. Or hear me. I'm afraid I couldn't help you even if I wanted to."

As Wormtail continued to stare fixedly at and converse nervously with something that wasn't there, Ron was torn between beginning to believe that maybe Snape hadn't been quite as full of shit as he had thought, and assuming that the rat had finally lost what few marbles had remained to his name. Still, either way, this little farce had gone on long enough. " _Petrificus Totalus."_

"And stay there." Harry said – rather unnecessarily, considering that there was now no one in the room capable of hearing him. Still, at least it made him feel better.

For a moment. Until, on his way down, Wormtail managed to make eye contact for one split second. Long enough, evidently.

_Well. This sucks._

And once again, the world swirled away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 19 June 2004  
> 9 September 2012  
> 19 April 2019


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm. Not much to say, other than the usual – me not owning anything, etc. (It occurs to me that no one would be stupid enough to have gotten this far in the story without realizing that I don't own Harry Potter … but it's just my luck that, if anyone did, they'd also be stupid enough to decide to sue me over it.)
> 
> So, enjoy!
> 
> (11/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

_Dearest Mum,_

_You know how you've always wanted to know everything about your beloved baby girl's life? I suppose it's always seemed to you that I have been telling you everything … but I left something rather important out. I thought it was for your own good, you see. Thought you'd be safe, so there'd really be no use worrying you with it (I worry enough for both of us, believe me …)_

_That freak gas explosion on Charleston Path (you remember, the one that happened on Christmas Eve – it was in the papers the day after, and you said it was a really great shame that such an awful thing would happen at such a time of year) wasn't really. That is, it wasn't a gas explosion, and it wasn't an accident._

_Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself. I suppose a better place to start would be this: there once was a little boy; I'm told his name was Tom Riddle …_

* * *

Two heads bent over a single book, one black and one a washed-out looking blond. "I … am still not entirely sure I understand it."

"It's simple. You just have to …"

Silence.

"You don't get it either, do you?"

Pinching of the nose; fingers that drifted towards the feather end of the quill before abruptly stilling, creating an odd tension in the air.

"I'll take that as a no." This time, the tone was somewhat more forced. "And you complain about _Gryffindor_ pride?"

A deliberate shrug. "A man must have _some_ sort of hobby."

 _:So_ that's _why he does it!:_

Peter started violently, and Severus looked up, the spirit of banter falling away. He didn't ask the obvious question, but the surprise and beginnings of concern were bright in his eyes. "I … sorry …"

_:Harry?!:_

_:Peter.:_ A certain sense of warmth suffused his mind. _:It's so good to see you again. How long was I away this time?:_

A strange half-smile twisted onto Peter's face as his eyes drifted downwards towards the feather quill that still occasionally twitched. _:Too long.:_

His eyes crossed as he became abruptly aware of a hand waving in front of his face. "Hello? Peter?"

"Sorry, I got distracted." The sheepish look came naturally. "It's … just that …" The grin came even more naturally as he reached out and shook Severus. "He's back, Severus! He came back!"

A return smile dawned, all the brighter for its hesitance. "Tell him welcome back for me, will you?"

In answer, the warmth only grew brighter. _:It's_ so _good to be back.:_

Severus looked past him in a peculiar way that made Peter sure that he was talking to Harry instead. "I don't suppose you know how to do multistage inanimate to animate transfiguration?"

_:Is that any sort of question to ask a kid who hasn't even taken his OWLs yet?:_

"And here I thought you knew everything!"

_:Only on alternate Tuesdays.:_

* * *

"Let's prank Snape."

"No, Lestrange. He looked funny at us last week, remember?"

"OK, granted."

"What do you think, Moony?"

Remus forced an easy grin; the artifice came easily to him. "Granted as well. Besides, if we prank Lestrange right, we can probably catch Black in the mix as well."

Sirius brightened at that; if there was any Slytherin (other than Snape, for obvious reasons) that he felt particular ire for, it would be his _beloved_ cousin Bella. That, as Remus had suspected, was enough to settle the argument, leading them into what exactly the prank would consist of. Satisfied that any further contributions on his part would probably not be needed, he slouched back into his chair.

The full moon had been only last night, and he was still feeling the effects. Light-headed, shaky – though he had gotten pretty good at suppressing the shakes – the restorative potions he kept lined up in his poor little room in the Shrieking Shack could do a lot to get him back on his feet, but they couldn't do everything, unfortunately.

But the hurt ran deeper than the bone-deep ache left from the forced transformation. Lurking in the back of his mind, he could still feel the wolf pacing restlessly. Restlessly the way he had paced last night, willingly confining himself within that room and refusing any of Prongs or Padfoot's attempts to convince him to roam outside. He had been waiting for … someone … something … he didn't know.

And that tension, the disappointment the wolf felt when, at last, no one appeared … it still remained with him, no matter how he tried to shake it, to write it off to just the wolf's latest quirk. All in all, he was in no condition to be doing much of anything. But that was another thing he had gotten used to pretending about.

The portrait opened, and his eyes tracked slowly to the person currently holding it open – Peter, oddly enough. It seemed like he was rarely ever around anymore … what had begun as the occasional consultation with Snape ( _Snape!_ ) over particularly hard to understand parts of Transfiguration homework had gradually become regular, then a daily habit. Now, it was rare when he saw Peter in Gryffindor at all anymore, other than when he came back to the tower to sleep.

Glancing at the two oblivious black-haired Animagi, his face twisted briefly into a wry grin. He wasn't sure James or Sirius either one had realized yet just where Peter disappeared off to … to the extent they'd noticed at all, they seemed to be of the opinion that he had finally gotten himself a girlfriend. It was … comforting, in an odd way. Safe. He could hang out with them and it felt almost like old times; they'd hardly noticed as he withdrew further into his shell, so long as he smiled and laughed and offered the appropriate suggestions at the appropriate times, whereas Peter would have noticed for sure if he'd been around much at all anymore.

The blond's eyes slowly traced the room until they landed on – him. The other boy's bright smile widened into a grin, and he jerked his head toward the open doorway. It took only a brief struggle between Remus' disinclination to move and his insatiable curiosity before, with a fairly transparent excuse that the two nonetheless accepted, he levered himself out of the chair and made his way slowly over to the doorway.

* * *

"D'you think he'll ever tell us what's wrong?"

A snort. "This is Moony we're talking about. He doesn't just have a mind like a steel trap. He has a mouth like one, too. Besides … you know what it's probably about."

"Yeah. _Him_. I never wanted to see him again, but …"

"Yeah. We've got to do something … but what can we do?"

"Nothing. Nothing but be here and let him pretend there's nothing wrong until he's willing to admit that there is."

"Wow. That was deep."

"Are you trying to imply I'm ever anything but?"

"Would I do a thing like that?"

"… Do you really _want_ me to answer that question?"

* * *

Peter did, in fact, notice. So did Harry. _:What_ happened _? I wasn't gone_ that _long, was I?:_ For certainly the deterioration in Remus seemed significant enough that it had likely happened over a large period of time.

He seemed just in general a bit thinner and … greyer. Despite the fact that his hair had yet to begin streaking grey with age, he still seemed to exude an aura that matched far better with the older werewolf who had taught him the Patronus Charm than the seventh-year student he had become more comfortable with over the past few … well, whatever. _:Well … you've hit him at a bad time … the full moon was only last night.:_

_:Still …:_

A narrow thread of guilt twisted through their joined minds. _:I … I'm afraid I haven't been keeping as good track of him as I should. I've been spending too much time with Severus … especially once Remus seemed to return to James and Sirius. I figured he was in good hands.:_ An uncomfortable-shrug-ish sort of sensation. _:I tried to invite him to join Severus and I … Severus wasn't all that thrilled with the idea, but he didn't say no outright, so …:_

For some reason, Harry found the mental image of Peter steamrolling Severus quite amusing. Translated to a completely incongruous image of Wormtail steamrolling Professor Snape in … well, _anything_ … it was flat hilarious. Peter, who had caught the edges of his thoughts, made the obligatory grumbles about it not being _that_ funny, but for the most part waited out Harry's giggles with patience.

_:If you don't mind …?:_

That almost set Harry off again, but he managed to retain his control by a thread. _:Oh, not at all. Go right on ahead.:_

 _:Thank you.:_ Peter took the equivalent of a deep breath. _:It didn't really work, though. Severus, I think, is frightened of Moony on some level … and didn't really like him all that much to begin with. And Moony – well, I don't know what problem Moony has with Severus exactly, but he has one. He tries to hide it, of course, but … with neither of them liking each other, it was too much of a strain to try and keep things going. So …:_ Another metaphysical shrug. _:Severus … seemed to need me more than Moony did. Especially now that he's declared his allegiance to the light, he has_ no _friends, not even the sort he had before.:_

Their eyes crossed as a hand was abruptly thrust in front of their face and waved slightly. That hand, of course, was attached to a certain werewolf's arm, who might have been looking slightly impatient if he didn't look so tired and apathetic instead. "Was there something you wanted me for, Peter?" He hinted, once he was pretty sure he had regained the blond's attention. "You looked pensive. Is something wrong?"

"Oh! No." _:No … just the realization of how bad a friend I've been lately.:_ "No, I just wanted to tell you …" Now, how was the best way to put it. "Um … a mutual friend of ours has returned."

A joyous flame sparked in Remus' eyes, and for a moment he looked near his old self again. He had already turned towards the dungeons and taken several steps towards them before Peter hastily negated that idea. "… then who?"

"… Me."

Remus turned to face him – them – fully again and there was a moment of tense awkwardness no one was quite sure of the source of. "Welcome back." Remus said softly, as his smile grew near to matching Peter's former smile in size and brilliance. "Welcome back."

And for that frozen moment in time, Harry desperately wished, with all his heart, for nothing more than the ability to stand in front of Remus in his own body, with his own smile (that would surely be a match for the other two) and in his own voice tell Remus just how good it was to be back.

* * *

It had been a peaceful three days. Peter had gone to class, spent time with Severus doing homework and with Remus feeling awkward (though Remus would never say or even think such a thing, Peter knew it was Harry that Remus _really_ wanted to be spending time with, which made him feel obscurely guilty for the fact that neither he nor Harry had managed to figure out how to separate or even how to allow Harry temporary control of their shared body).

Harry, on the other hand, had sat back (in a metaphysical sort of way), relaxed, and made the occasional remark on the rare occasions that he knew something about the topic of conversation. He basked in the peace that had been so rare in his life – not a total peace, for the occasional worry about Ron and how he fared against Wormtail once Harry left, and about the rest of the people back in the world from which he had come, was never completely absent from his mind.

But he had lived with worry all his life; this was nothing. There was no expectation, here, that he would be needed to vanquish some evil that had paralyzed the entire wizarding world (or at least the British part of it) with fear. The evil still existed; Harry still expected he'd have some part in fighting it (and would have fought bitterly had anyone pointed out he was just a child and far too young to do so) … but not now, not yet. And when he did fight, it would be on his _own_ terms.

Not Voldemort's. Not Dumbledore's. _Especially_ not this Dumbledore.

His.

 _:Thinking weighty thoughts?:_ Peter teased lightly.

 _:Not anything of consequence.:_ Harry assured him. _:Hey … stop for a second.:_ Obediently, Peter stopped, standing as still as he could. And there is was again, the whisper Harry thought he had heard. A terribly familiar whisper. _And here we go again … of course my life couldn't stay uncomplicated for long._

 _:What is it?:_ There was caution in Peter's tone. _:What do you hear?:_

 _:Something … I had hoped never to hear again.:_ There was pain, and a great feeling of world-weariness in Harry's voice. _:Something I don't know if I even can do something about, the way I am.:_

 _:If there's anything I can do …:_ Palpable hesitation. It wasn't just silence on Harry's part, Peter could feel, but a very real disinclination (one might even say fear, if Peter hadn't believed that fear was entirely contrary to Harry's basic disposition) to confide in him.

_:I … do you trust me?:_

_:That's a rather, erh, vague question … what sort of trust are we talking about here?:_

_:… it's possible that it could mean the difference between life and death for a fellow student – or possibly even you. On the other hand, I could be overreacting and it could be absolutely nothing.:_

_:Ah. That sort of trust.:_ A pause, then Peter said brightly, _:Now, if you were asking if I trusted you to back a sublime cherry pie, I would say no, considering I have no clue what sort of cook you make. But a matter of life and death? Psh. I'm your man.:_ Another pause, this consideringly. _:Body. You know, whatever.:_

A flare of gratitude. _:Thanks, Peter.:_ This pause seemed to indicate a gathering of thoughts. _:All right. I'm not sure whether or not this is even possible, but … okay. Go to the girls' restroom on the first floor. The out-of-order one.:_

 _:In case you haven't noticed, I'm a guy, Harry. For that matter, we're_ both _guys.:_

_:Look, do you trust me or not? I need to be in that restroom.:_

_:… all right, you're the boss.:_

* * *

"So, now what?" Peter admitted, if only to himself, that he was speaking instead of merely thinking mostly just to hear himself talk. Perhaps not a wise decision, in an area where he would probably get in big trouble for even being … but it was a rather large space, and unwelcoming, and despite Harry's presence, he felt very alone.

_:Go over to the sinks. You'll know which one you're searching for – it has a small snake carved on the tap.:_

Unable to keep himself from tiptoeing, Peter made his way over to the sinks, carefully searching each one. At the same moment Harry interrupted his search to say _:This one,:_ Peter found the carving the spirit had spoken of. Unconsciously repeating himself as he bent down to more closely inspect the tiny diagram, Peter asked, "Now what?"

 _:Now, we find out if this works. Repeat after me.:_ Harry then began … hissing, a long string of liquid syllables.

 _He's a_ Parselmouth _!_ Peter froze for a horrified instant, his mind flashing through everything he'd ever heard about that hated and feared ability.

Which, as he regained his equilibrium, he admitted really wasn't much. Just that it was something associated Dark Wizards and Slytherins. _This is why Harry was so worried._ He realized. _He was afraid that I would react …_ exactly _the way I just reacted. Quit this, Pettigrew, and do what he said. Harry is Harry, he won't steer you wrong._

_:Um … could you repeat that, please? I'm not sure I quite …:_

Astonishing warmth suffused him; so great that Peter found himself blushing slightly – at least, he could feel the heat in his cheeks, though the familiar cheeks in the mirror showed no signs of pink. _:… thank you …:_ he thought he heard Harry whisper, before obligingly repeating the string of syllables.

Peter tried his best. Truly he did. Unfortunately, instead of falling trippingly off his tongue, that string of – he supposed it must have been Parseltongue – simply tripped. Harry snickered. _:What?:_

The snicker abruptly cut itself off, and there was a flush of embarrassment. _:Sorry … I really shouldn't … it's just …:_ He snickered again. _:What you said was, near as I can translate, was 'sasquatch'. What I said was 'open'.:_

_:What, not even 'open sesame'? How very banal.:_

_:Yeah, well … Salazar Slytherin probably wasn't the most inventive guy on the planet. I know his decor certainly needs work …:_

Peter was thrown. Again. _:Wait a second. Slytherin … this …:_

_:Is the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, yes. I stumbled upon it in my second year.:_

_:And what you're looking for – some sort of whispers …?:_

_:From the legendary monster Slytherin hid away in his secret chamber, a basilisk.:_

_:A_ basilisk _?!:_

_:I just need to check on it. Make sure it hasn't gotten loose again.:_

Peter nodded once, then tried the series of syllables once more.

 _:Well … um … that was closer?:_ Harry offered hopefully. _:You said 'door' this time …:_

"What kind of language has the exact same pronunciation for _door_ and _sasquatch_?! I don't even know what a sasquatch _is_!"

"I don't know. What kind of language? You tell me." Peter whirled to find Severus leaning, oh-so-elegantly, against one of the side walls. He pushed away and paced forward. "You know, Harry, we really need to stop meeting like this. Are you going to tell me what's really going on this time?"

_:Can I?:_

He felt Harry sigh. _:Eh … he already knows so much about me, why not this too? Go ahead … I won't make you keep this a secret from him. Not that he'd likely believe anything_ but _the truth, after finding us in this position:_

_:Thanks …:_

Peter looked at Severus. "I don't know the entire story either, but …" he pointed at the tap. " _That_ is evidently the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. And we're going down there to make sure the basilisk hasn't gotten loose to terrorize the school." The traitorous flush reared its head again. "If I can figure out how to open the thing in the first place."

Severus blinked. "Wait. I thought – Harry, you said that the only one left who could open the Chamber was Voldemort."

_:Hey, yeah … I remember that too …:_

_:Er … so I may have … fudged the truth slightly …:_

"That language you were attempting to speak … was that Parseltongue?" At Peter's hesitant nod, Severus nodded more firmly, satisfied. "I withdraw my previous question. If _I_ were a Parselmouth, _I_ wouldn't want Dumbledore to know either." A twisted expression. "Especially considering how he already feels about you."

"Point taken." Peter nodded. "I have the utmost respect for the Headmaster … but he does seem to jump to all the wrong conclusions about Harry, doesn't he?"

It was a rhetorical question, and happily Severus decided to treat it as such. "So … is this whole 'attempting to speak Parseltongue' thing a private party, or can I join in?"

Peter laughed. "You can't possibly do any worse than I'm doing now. Okay, so here's what we're trying to say … ish." He hissed a long string of meaningless syllables, then flinched. "Well, actually, that apparently means 'sponge' … but …"

Severus, after fixing the sequence firmly in his mind, cleared his throat self-consciously and spoke.

"Sorry. Harry says that means '42.'"

Again.

"Um … 'rabid dog'?" Feeling it was unfair to be doing all the criticizing, Peter took another whack at it. "'What.'"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Blank stare.

Blink. "What did that mean?"

"What."

"Yes, you said that already … but what's the translation?"

Peter snorted. "Now we sound like some sort of two bit comedy team … I _meant_ that the translation of what I said just now _was_ 'what'."

Severus rolled his eyes – at himself, Peter, or possibly Harry; he wasn't quite sure which – sighed, and went back to trying.

Five minutes later …

"My throat's getting sore …" Peter complained, rubbing at the aforementioned body part. "I think I'm taking a break."

Severus nodded agreement, but then turned back to the tap, unable to resist making one last attempt.

 _:That's it!:_ Harry proclaimed, simultaneous with Severus' yelp as he stumbled backwards – though that was almost completely drowned out by the groaning of the sink as that entire area somehow … _morphed_ , components sliding out of the way, into other areas or into temporary nonexistence, to accommodate a sudden large hole.

 _:We have to jump down_ there _?:_

_:Oh, lighten up. My best friends and I did this when we were twelve. Surely a big, mature seventeen-year-old like yourself –:_

_:I turned eighteen in January.:_

_:–_ Eighteen _-year-old like yourself, then – can manage an itty-bitty jump like this one?:_

_:How are we going to get back out?:_

_:Levitate each other?:_ He could feel Harry shrug. _This is such a bad idea … and I'm not saying that because it's the Chamber of Secrets or because we're planning on confronting a basilisk. Well … not completely at least. We don't have anything even_ remotely _resembling a plan …_

While Peter occupied himself with privately predicting doom on the entire expedition, Severus peered down into the hole. Even when he lit his wand, he couldn't see the bottom – and could only dimly see a turn in the pipe. He couldn't believe this … he was getting a chance to see the secret chamber built by Slytherin _himself_ … the _ultimate_ Slytherin. Words failed him. It was just too …

 _Wicked_ …

* * *

"This is not a good idea."

"You said that already."

"But I mean it. This is really _not_ a good idea."

"You said that already, too."

"I mean, look at us. Two seventh-years – have you even turned eighteen yet? No, don't answer that, it's beside the point – are going down into the legendary Chamber of Secrets to confront an ancient monster that's been living down here all this time – and just happens to be a basilisk? That has the power to _kill us_ just by _looking_ at us?! This is so beyond not a good idea that there are no words to properly describe its badness!"

Severus halted, which, since Peter was pacing a bit behind the Slytherin, had the effect of stopping them both. "I know. I really do. But it's the Chamber of Secrets! You don't know how many Slytherins have _dreamed_ of getting a chance like this! Besides …" he raised an eyebrow. "You've been doing this at Harry's request all along. Even if I wanted to turn back … would you? Really?"

A long, hesitant moment, before the blond pulled himself back together. Severus was amazed at the difference it made, how much more solid Peter seemed. Yes, _this_ was the Gryffindor misfit he had come to know and – yeah. Know. His study partner nodded acknowledgement, a vaguely rueful grin on his face. "No, I guess wouldn't."

This time, when they started forward, Peter took the lead.

* * *

Another doorway blocked their path. "Let me guess." Severus said dryly. "The password to this one is also 'open'."

 _:Got it in one.:_ Harry, who had been for the most part quietly buried in memories he showed a distinct disinclination to share, chirped.

Severus, upon receiving that intelligence, simply sighed and began – again – the process of essentially trying to guess how to say 'open' in Parseltongue (given that just about every combination either had tried sounded essentially the same to their untrained ears).

After 'life', 'universe', 'everything', 'forty-two' (or what would translate roughly to that, considering that snakes didn't generally have the greatest grasp on the concept of numbers in the world), and something that Harry was willing to place a large bet on having no human equivalent whatsoever, it was Peter, this time, who finally hit upon the correct intonation.

"This is so cool." Severus whispered as they watched the metallic serpents unlock themselves to open the way forward. "Just … wow. The others would _never_ believe me if I told them about this."

 _:Did I just hear Severus Snape say the word 'cool'?:_ Harry asked weakly. _:It was just a hallucination, right?:_

 _:Hey, give thanks for small blessings.:_ Peter pointed out, rather surprised at the choice of wording himself. _:At least he didn't say 'groovy'.:_

As they continued farther into the final set of tunnels, Peter and Severus seemed to have become infected with Harry's pensive silence; none of the three spoke, except once about halfway along where Harry observed _:The main chamber is coming up soon:_ and Peter passed the message along.

It was really quite a long tunnel, and despite the frequent jokes made by the rest of the school about the resemblance between the Slytherin living quarters and dank, unlivable dungeons, the constant darkness (not complete – there was just enough ambient light to see by, from some unknown source) combined with the dampness of the area and the rather consistent dripping in the background wore even on Severus' nerves.

Thus, both were rather relieved (in a keyed up sort of way) when they noticed the gradual lightening of the area and evidence that, up ahead, the tunnel seemed to be broadening into a larger chamber. _:That's it.:_ Harry confirmed quietly.

"Be on guard." Severus spoke, in a tone so low that even Peter hardly heard it; the Gryffindor nodded sharply in reply.

Then, just as they reached the end of the tunnel and were beginning to look around in awe at the immense chamber the tunnel had led out into (even Harry, who had seen the area twenty years later and in a considerably worse state of mind, was relatively impressed), a rustling caught both (well, all three really …) of their attentions.

 _Something comes!_ Wands appeared in hand – Harry rather touched that Severus came up with two; his own in his right (and presumably dominant) hand and Harry's in his left.

It appeared. _::Intruderss!::_ Out of the corners of their eyes (in the hopes that they might die by being impaled instead of simply killed by the look in its eyes), Peter and Severus saw the enormous green length with its scales nearly as big as a human fist rearing backwards. As one, they jumped away, Severus wondering if Peter's mind was as entirely blank of any useful spell against such a monster as this as his was.

But then he looked left, where the blond had sprawled after tripping in his jump out of the way, and saw that his friend was no longer there … in Peter's place, another very familiar visage had appeared. The raven-haired apparition stood, brushing off his clothes (a bit big now, considering that Peter was both taller and broader than the fourth-year spirit), and fearlessly spoke.

Hissed, rather. Under Severus' awed eyes, the language that had tripped from his and Peter's tongues in fits and starts – fits that included fits of laughter, at least on Harry's part, at the translation of their latest attempts – simply _flowed_ from Harry's, like the language it was supposed to be. _This_ was the way Parseltongue was meant to be spoken, and under that flow of words the giant snake – basilisk – visibly calmed.

_Wow. Just … wow._

* * *

Harry was reasonably certain (though the still-frantic Peter now stuck in _his_ head was not quite so sanguine about the whole situation) that he had calmed the basilisk enough to where it would no longer be likely to lash out at either him or Severus – who he had explained quite strongly was a friend.

Now all that remained … _::Why is it that you are wandering around the pipes, Ssylria?::_ That was her name, as he had learned in the early stages of their conversation.

 _::I'm hungry.::_ She explained, on the edge of a whine. _::And lonely and I want my mother … sshe would bring me food. Thiss placsse – thesse pipess' you sspeak of – they hint at the mosst delightful of sscentss, but I have not been able to find anything. And I am really sso very hungry …::_

 _::Why are you not with your mother now?::_ Harry found himself contemplating uncomfortably the basilisk he had killed without even really trying to find another way. Had it been Ssylria he killed? Or perhaps her mother, leaving her (and any siblings) alone and unable to properly fend for themselves? Either way, he found himself re-examining his options at the time, trying vainly to discover if there had been another way.

 _::Thiss human came along, a bit sshorter than you, and sspoke to Mother and Ssyruss and me … he told uss that he was the only one who could undersstand uss and that he would bring 'glory' to uss (which he confirmed was a particularly delicious delicassy) if we followed him.::_ She sighed, an enormous gust of air that pushed Harry backwards several feet. _::But I have not tassted any of thiss 'glory' … nothing but thesse cold, dark tunnelss and a great deal of lonelinesss. I wissh to go home …::_

Guilt still plaguing him, Harry nodded. _::If it is within my power, I will find a way to bring you home.::_

The basilisk on one side and Severus (after the requisite summary of the conversation that had transpired) on his other, Harry set out to explore the Chamber that had been the setting of a pivotal event in his life two years ago and sixteen from now. Strangely, he found himself looking back – and here was where the basilisk threw me hard enough that I wondered if I would ever get back up again – with something oddly reminiscent of nostalgia.

Eventually they made their way to the giant bust – supposedly of Salazar Slytherin, which he made the mistake of noting; that sent Severus once again into his raptures about how ' _utterly wicked!_ ' the Chamber was (which still didn't fail to be vaguely disturbing to watch). and distracted Peter into making pithy remarks involving Slytherin's mother that, on the whole, Harry was pretty glad Severus couldn't hear. Meanwhile, he and the basilisk attempted to figure out how to return her to where she belonged.

He thought he remembered, in second year, the statue's mouth opening to let the basilisk out; in addition, Ssylria was fairly certain that this was the place. Now all they needed was to find out how it worked. All the typical solutions were tried first: Harry and Ssylria both tried the oft-used   _open_ , Severus had even been brought in to make his attempts, although all those resulted in were paroxysms of laughter on the part of Harry and a kind of bemused curiosity from Sslyria, who simply couldn't quite understand how anyone could mangle her language _that_ badly.

Finally, in frustration, Harry kicked Slytherin's long, flowing beard. _::Lissten up, you sstupid unmoving hunk of sstone! Sslyria is alone out here, sshe hassn't eaten_ anything _ssince_ Merlin _knowss when, sso sshe'ss undersstandably rather hungry, and sshe's lonely ssince I'm one of maybe_ two _people on the entire planet who can actually_ undersstand _her and I'm s_ sorry _but I'm_ not _going to sspend the rest of my life – or death, or what_ ever _– holed up in thiss Godforssaken Chamber of yourss! Sso_ open up _already and let thiss poor young child go –::_ He stopped suddenly. The next word … _::– home …?::_ he finished hopefully.

The mouth opened, slowly and grindingly just exactly the way he remembered it and Ssylria made a rather intimidating noise that Harry could find no translation for other than a wordless, joyous squeal – like the sort one hears from the archetypical teenaged girl. _::Thank you, Harry! I will always remember this, and if you ever have need of me, you need only call.::_

That giant tongue flicked out and touched his face, a brief whisper of a touch that was surprisingly light, considering that the tongue itself was nearly as large as Harry's head. _::I owe you a debt I hope I can repay someday.::_

And then she was gone, and Harry was left wondering why he felt almost as if he had lost another friend. Then there was the arm flung around his shoulder – a rather un-Severus-like thing for the Slytherin to do, but perhaps he was still unhinged by the experience. "Come on, Harry." He said softly. "I think it's about time for us to leave."

"… Yeah." He could hear himself saying, as through a tunnel. "Yeah, I guess it is." The tunnel continued to lengthen and he found himself greying out.

Peter slung his arm over Severus' other shoulder. "You know, I think Ssylria had a good idea."

"What idea was that?"

"Home, Severus. Let's go home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 August 2004  
> 10 September 2012  
> 19 April 2019


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College has been stealing my lunch and eating it.
> 
> It's becoming less and less likely that I'll have even a hope of keeping to my 'once a month' quote (… not that I did terribly well to begin with …). So just … please be patient with me, and know that I haven't given up, that this story will be updated.
> 
> Eventually.
> 
> On a somewhat happier note, I feel I must acknowledge the fact that this story has now officially topped 1000 reviews … there are not words enough for me to express my awe that this story has received such a great response, and my gratitude to all of you who reviewed and contributed to this fantastic achievement … and to those of you who never quite got around to reviewing, but read and enjoyed this story nonetheless.
> 
> Thank you all.
> 
> Harry Potter doesn't belong to me … I've written that so many times by now that I could type it with my eyes closed – and I'm sure you've all seen it so many times that you could read it with your eyes closed, too.
> 
> Now, my typical apologies, the happy news, and the ever-necessary disclaimer out of the way, I shall stop talking and allow you to move on to the real reason you're here.
> 
> (11/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

"Maybe we switch when I trip?" Peter theorized.

"One way to find out," Severus shrugged, a playful smirk on his face as he shoved the rat Animagus – hard.

Several flustered moments later, nursing a few more bruises than before (his previous jumps and the path down the pipe had not precisely left him unscathed, either), Peter clambered back to his feet. "What was _that_ for?!" He accused, trying not to show his hurt.

"Just seeing if it would make Harry come out." Severus replied, deliberately nonchalant. As the silence stretched, and Peter kept looking at him, though, he broke. "Look … hey, I'm … He looked down at his feet and muttered "… sorry."

Shock was Peter's first response, while Severus was wasting a wonderful glare on his rather grubby shoes. He had _never_ heard Severus sincerely apologize before. To _anyone_ , much less _him_! And a quick check with the voice in his head proved that Harry had heard such an odd thing _:only once … that time when we broke with each other pretty harshly.:_ Recalling his own memories of how hard he'd had to kick the Slytherin to get him moving, Peter tactfully didn't ask more. "Don't worry, it didn't really hurt, and it _did_ give us some valuable new information …"

"Still a lousy thing for me to have done without warning you." Severus told his shoes. "I didn't mean …"

 _He was trying to be_ playful _, and I shot him down._ Peter realized. _Wow, now_ I _feel like crap._ Well, there was only one way to fix that. While the Slytherin continued to conveniently pay the majority of his attention to his shoes, Peter innocently meandered behind Severus and shoved _him_ so hard that he abruptly lost balance and fell sprawling on the ground.

Being the nice person he was, of course, his next step was to move forward and offer Severus a hand up. Meanwhile, his friend was trying in vain to catch his breath, staring up at him in utter shock. "What …?!"

An innocent smile. "I just figured it would make you feel better if I evened the score a bit."

"For being witness to the ruination of a Slytherin's dignity, prepare to die." Severus deadpanned, as he reached up to grasp Peter's hand. "I'll show you _even_!" And with that, he gave a sharp yank that tumbled Peter halfway across the hallway. Now, having grown up around rowdy older (and younger, for that matter) siblings, the Gryffindor knew _exactly_ the sort of challenge that was expressing – and the proper response.

With a childish whoop, he dove back towards his black-haired friend.

* * *

The tiny snake hissed. Remus hissed back. "… I hope that meant 'shut up'." He muttered. Remus did not like snakes at all – and he liked them even less when they were hissing at him. Or – he shuddered at even the thought of the feather-light touch of the reptile's tongue – _tasting_ him.

Said mildly phobic werewolf was currently carrying said snake down to the Potions dungeon – he had been so hapless as to have been wandering in just the wrong area outside to be 'volunteered' by the gamekeeper, Hagrid, to take 'the little beauty' inside and consult Professor Yamada as to whether it had any interesting or particularly useful properties.

This would perhaps explain why, normally rather lenient as far as his prefect duties were concerned (he had a long tradition of ignoring most of them where his friends were concerned … and was not generally so hypocritical as to turn around and try to enforce them strictly on everyone else), when he heard the sounds of a scuffle significantly further down a side hall, he took the opportunity to think of something _other_ than the creepy reptile in the box in his hands, and rushed in that direction.

As he came closer, the noises that had originally attracted his attention became somewhat more distinguishable. A variety of thumps – emphatic enough of ones that they made him rather sympathetic towards whoever was on the receiving end. Hogwarts' cold stone floors were _not_ the nicest surface to land on by any stretch of the imagination. The occasional softer sound that might have been a grunt or a low-pitched yell.

Needless to say, when he skidded around the final corner, he was _not_ expecting to see his friend Peter straddling the back of a prone Snape, pinning both of the Slytherin's arms to the floor. (A small part of him was rather uncharitably surprised that Wormtail was managing to hold down someone who was significantly taller, almost certainly in better shape, and without a doubt sneakier than he was.)

The blond was grinning in a way that even Remus had to admit was pretty obnoxious. "Now let's all repeat after me. 'Severus Snape is a weak pansy'" – a pause as the 'weak pansy' in question made an attempt to escape that was effectively handled by a knee in the ribs. – "'who fights like a girl'." He finished off urbanely.

The Slytherin was rather out of breath – Remus didn't even need to hear the pants (which of course he could, being a werewolf with their improved senses and all) to know that. "How in the world did you get so good at wrestling?"

"You forget." Peter grinned proudly, relaxing slightly. "I have a couple of brothers. And even my sister has been known to get a good hit in – usually when we dense males least expect it. I've had plenty of – _oof_!"

Said exclamation came from the remaining breath – and words – being knocked out of him as Severus, seeing the opportunity inherent in his brief relaxation, suddenly thrashed upwards; succeeding in toppling the braided Gryffindor off balance with an end result that was essentially almost a complete swap from their previous positions. "Now who's the weak pansy?" Severus hissed. "You forget. _I_ am Slytherin."

Remus, growing slightly tired of being ignored, stepped forward. "And you both seem to forget," he noted dryly, "that there is no fighting allowed in the halls."

The two guilty parties – in what was perhaps the most surprising part of the entire confusing incident – shared a long look, sighed, and muttered ( _almost_ in unison) "Spoilsport."

A stuttering hiss caught his preternaturally sharp ears and he took his eyes off the oddball pair just long enough to throw an annoyed glance in the perforated box's direction. "Oh, please. Not you too."

Another hiss caught his attention. Looking back up, the first thing he saw was the bright green eyes. It had been so long, it seemed … and yet when he saw those eyes again, it felt like just yesterday; as if they had never parted.

 _As if I was so busy mooning over a pair of eyes I had completely forgotten other things … like my brain?_ He sniped at himself in the back of his head, forcibly refocusing on the subject at hand. Except wait. There was no subject. He supposed he ought to rectify that situation.

"So you do it too?" Popped out of his mouth, before any of the other things clamoring to be said could manage to gain a foothold. Probably just as well, considering a healthy percentage of them contained the gushy sort of sentiment that would likely send Snape into insulin shock and embarrass both himself and Harry for life. And the rest were questions that a) really could wait and b) would probably just be an exercise in futility considering he really doubted that Harry had any better of an idea as to why he suddenly gained control of the body that he shared with Peter than Remus did.

"Ah … do what?" Harry blinked, looking away.

"Oh. Sorry. Hiss at snakes and pretend they can actually understand you?" He grinned in a way that was supposed to evoke shared experiences. "And hope you haven't just insulted their ancestry and made crass suggestions about their mother?"

 _That_ startled a laugh out of the spirit. "I – yes, I suppose I have." The laughter left a small smile on his face – yet the wolf, for a moment, thought he smelled – guilt. And the momentary expression on Snape's face, a curious twisted collage of triumphant 'I know something you don't' overlaid with a healthy dose of puzzlement and … disappointment? – before that gave way, as Snape expressions always do, to the sort of uniquely Slytherin neutrality that shaded naturally into a mild sneer.

Remus became aware that he had been standing there, staring at Harry, for far longer than he had any right to, and abruptly flushed. "I … probably I ought to go on and get the snake down … take the box over to Professor Yamada …"

"Snake …" Snape tested the word as if it were unfamiliar to him. "Harry, do you think …?"

The spirit's eyes widened. "Huh. That … would make sense. Not in a cosmic-meaning-of-what-brought-me-here-and-why sort of way, I'm totally lost on that still, but from a purely practical point of view …"

"What, there's a cosmic reason you're here?" Snape needled him.

"As I just _said_ , I don't –"

"– other than to destroy my life by inducing me to indulge in all sorts of unhealthily un-Slytherin thoughts and actions?" Said Slytherin continued blithely, ignoring Harry's half-hearted attempt at actually giving his original question an honest answer.

Harry took a slow swing at the other student that Snape easily ducked, then grinned impishly. "Good for you, to shake you up a bit every now and then."

Remus chuckled. "What, Severus Snape ever act in a manner that is not in the utmost of Slytherin-ness? Say it ain't so!" He deadpanned.

The dark-haired Slytherin glared. "You can just shut up. You know nothing, w– you wuss."

This time Harry's punch came hard and fast. Still not terribly powerful – Severus would be highly surprised if his shoulder bruised at all – but leaving no doubts as to Harry's seriousness. "No name-calling." He said firmly … the flicker of disappointment proving to Severus that Harry knew exactly what he had been on the verge of calling Lupin instead – and decidedly did _not_ approve.

Severus grunted. He had been out of line … but damned if he was going to admit it. He did have some _few_ shreds of pride left.

Although, knowing Harry, probably not for long …

* * *

By a consensus that never quite made it to the point of being vocalized, the small group of erstwhile revolutionaries continued meeting where their meetings had originally begun – in the library.

Over the past few days, they had grown in size – slowly, perhaps, but grown nonetheless. The three Hogwarts students had brought in a few friends of theirs each – Elle acting as their primary connection to the Muggleborn crowd, Veronica contacting in a few purebloods she thought would be sympathetic to their cause, and Edwin covering the people in between who, for whatever reason, the three of them had decided were trustworthy.

Said that way, it sounded like a lot of people … the truth was that most of the people mentioned had only been subtly felt out on the matter (yes, Hufflepuffs could find it in themselves to be subtle when they really felt the need – this group was even beginning to learn the value of sneakiness); the number of people actually making up the group had only grown from the original four to seven.

The majority of the meeting had passed by, and the seven of them had fallen into a comfortable rut, idly batting around a few of the more prevalent ideas but no longer making all that much of an effort to come up with new ones.

"I bet I could get my brother Mark to help you with that one." A new voice interrupted, sparking panicked attention from each and every member.

The girl in question, young-looking with a medium build and dirty blonde hair tucked into two haphazard pigtails, grinned – showing off a hole on the left side of her mouth where she had evidently recently lost a tooth. "I've come to join you, by the way."

"I thought we were keeping this to the upper years for now." Petunia hissed to Edwin – he who she assumed was the perpetrator, since the girl seemed free of the slightly defensive attitude of most of the Muggleborns she had encountered, but didn't really fit her mental picture of a pureblood – while trying in the mean time to keep a not-wholly-insincere smile on her face for their current audience. "Isn't she a bit young?"

Edwin gave a helpless shrug, wordlessly disclaiming any responsibility for the series of events that had brought this young person to their table in the library. _At least,_ Petunia thought, eyeing the black and gold badge on the girl's by-now-familiar Hogwarts student robes, _she's a Hufflepuff too_.

"Hello, still here?" The girl in question sniped. "I'll have you know I'm fourteen!"

"I'm eighteen. And that has any bearing on this conversation … how?" Petunia drawled, feeling obscurely challenged.

The third year looked frustrated. Specifically, she looked like she was attempting to decide between stomping her foot and kicking Petunia with it. Personally, the Muggle preferred her not deciding on the latter option – whatever age she was, that girl looked like she had a mean kick. "Look, just the fact that I found out about what you are doing has _got_ to be an indication that your idea of security needs a total revamp. The only reason this thing isn't common news all over the school already is because we're Hufflepuffs." She looked torn between house pride and an understandable dose of bitterness. "No one ever expects great things – or much of anything of note – from the house that sounds like some obscure breed of marshmallow."

"She's right, you know." Ronnie reluctantly admitted from the corner of the table where, in between paying attention to the more interesting parts of the meeting, she had been attempting to get some revising done. As if feeling that making that comment somehow obligated her to pay more visible attention to the conversation at hand, she clawed her way out of the obscenely comfortable chair (all of them were, a fact which Petunia really appreciated) and approached. "I'm Veronica, by the way. I don't recall …?"

"Oh! Sarah." The girl flushed slightly, and clarified, "My name's Sarah. It's nice to meet you, Veronica."

"Call me Ronnie." The older girl requested, before turning her attention to her friends. "She _does_ have a point. I say let her in." A smooth shrug. "She seems old enough to wipe away her own drool, so to speak … and what little she's said seems to have been at least as coherent as the rest of us. Are there any other qualifications to join this group that I was unaware of?"

"Not the logic! Anything but that!" Elle whimpered dramatically, trying to use Edwin to shield her from Ronnie. Of course, said seventh-year didn't make a very good shield, seeing as he was practically convulsing with the effort of holding in his laughter at the theatrical scene being enacted.

Petunia just sighed, forced herself to lower her hackles, and turned back to the shorter blonde. "What the hey … not like you're any less mature than the rest of this group of nutcases, apparently … sounds like you're in, squirt."

Initially on the verge of glowing in mixed triumph and pride, the third-year abruptly deflated, pinning Petunia with a master-class glare as she again looked to be on the verge of stomping her foot. "The name's _Sarah_."

"Whatever you say, squirt."

* * *

It was a lovely day for a stroll with someone you love. Well, in James' opinion, any day was a lovely day to go strolling with Lily – with the possible exception of those days when he had been doing something she heartily disapproved of and she actually caught him at it and hadn't quite gotten over her anger and forgiven him for yet. And really, it was probably rather a chilly day outside, and for all he knew Hogwarts could be stuck in the middle of a freak early spring snowstorm. Or a downpour. So really, he had no basis for calling it a lovely day at all, given that he had no idea what sort of day it was (though he seemed to remember the sun shining in his window when he woke up, which tended to indicate that the day had at least started out lovely).

Well, whatever. The facts of the matter were that James was strolling down the halls of Hogwarts, his lady love at his side, that he was happy because of said situation, and that he really couldn't care less what the weather was like outside.

"James … are you even listening to me at all?" Lily asked irritably, although if one listened closely they could catch the hint of amusement in her voice.

"Of – of course!" He assured her hastily. "When have I ever paid any but the utmost of –"

And now she was laughing. "James, I just told you that I was expecting twin children by Professor Flitwick and had plans to call them Harry and Severus. And you smiled and said 'That's very interesting'."

"Okay, first – ew! And second …" He paused briefly. "Actually, I take that back. There is no second. Just – _ewww_! That mental image is just so wrong, there are no words to express the depths of its wrongness!"

"Professor Flitwick and I?" She asked innocently, although she didn't try hard enough to mask the mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Or the thought of me naming my children Harry and Severus?"

"Stop, I'm begging you!" In full dramatic flow, James fell to his knees in front of her. "Please, no more!"

"Idiot." She said fondly, cuffing him lightly on the shoulder. "Well, that's what you get for ignoring me when I'm talking."

James had just opened his mouth to reply – quite indignantly, of course – when he was preempted by the sound of voices drifting from around the corner. One about medium in pitch, the other rather higher – much like that of a boy whose voice hadn't broken yet. The lower-pitched voice was immediately familiar, the higher one less so – still familiar, but he couldn't quite place where.

 _Remus_. Yet, far happier than he had heard the werewolf sound in … quite some time. A quiet, unaffected, pure happiness; entirely unlike the masks he put on these days to deflect others' worries – masks that, while good, never quite managed to eliminate that hint of falseness; the too-good-to-be-real tinge that sneaked in around the edges. And it was that tone to Remus' voice that led James to the logical conclusion and, simultaneously, remembering where he had heard that other voice before. _Harry_.

With that realization came action. Even before he caught the flash of black around the corner that heralded the imminent arrival of the two, he swept down a side corridor and into a darkened and empty classroom, tugging a rather bewildered Lily along with.

"You know," Lily said, "I like snogging quite as much as the next red-blooded female, but … is just now really the time?"

James immediately decided that, whatever his original plans, that was a capital idea. "Ah, but now is the _best_ time. All alone … together …" He attempted to waggle his eyebrows lasciviously.

Yet another cuff to the shoulder – he was sure he'd be bruised all over soon! – as the redhead tried to swallow her laughter. "Seriously, James … what happened?"

"Oh …" he shuffled slightly, deliberately looking anywhere but his girlfriend. "… just … thought I saw some people headed this way that I didn't particularly feel like dealing with …"

Her arms were crossed. That was Not a Good Sign. "James Bertrand Potter," And using his despised middle name. Also Not Good, "if you think for one moment that I believe that there is anyone in this school you would be that eager to get away from …"

Alright, time for Plan B. He hit her with one of the most plaintive looks he could summon – and considering he was best friends with Sirius Black, who had practically written the definition of sad puppy-dog eyes even before his Animagus form was discovered, that was pretty potent. Unfortunately, he had forgotten to factor in the fact that Lily Evans had been enduring said look from both of them for almost as long as Sirius and himself had been perfecting it; she had pretty formidable defenses against it by now. And she wasn't moved.

However, she _was_ mov _ing_. She turned toward the door and said, speculatively, "You know, I don't know why I'm even bothering, when it's just as easy – no, make that easier – to just walk out and see for myself."

He grabbed for her arm; she danced away. "Please don't, Lily."

"Then give me a reason not to, James." As if talking to a small child.

He deflated. "It – well, I'm almost entirely sure that it was Remus." His breath huffed out. "And Harry."

"Harry? As in … _that_ Harry?" Lily blurted.

"Yes, _that_ Harry." James could not help sounding just a bit mocking – a side effect of how on-edge the situation had made him, he supposed.

"And you're not off finding Professor Dumbledore and _telling_ him about this?"

"No. I'm not." His mouth twisted, as he idly kicked the leg of a nearby table, striking it in vaguely rhythmic sort of way.

"Why?!" The question escaped her mouth before she could think of some way to put it a bit more politely. "I mean, you hate him, right? Why are you protecting him?"

James slouched further. "I – it's complicated." He ran his fingers through his hair, for once not in order to further his image, but just because it was a comforting gesture. "Before Christmas … I did something really _fucking_ stupid. And thoughtless. Can't forget thoughtless. And, well … it hurt Remus. A lot. And it's no thanks to me that the hurt wasn't as bad as it could have been."

He could still hear that snarl sometimes, when he tried – _Next time you want someone torn to pieces, why don't you do it_ yourself.

It had hurt then. Now – with what he _hoped_ was a good dose of extra maturity under his belt – it hurt even worse.

"But he's forgiven you, hasn't he?" His beautiful Lily, eyes narrowed slightly in thought. "I mean, yeah, there was that break-up back in November … but the four of you have been as close as ever recently, haven't you?"

James laughed bitterly. "I don't know if he'll ever forgive us … I'm not sure we deserve that forgiveness. No, he hangs out with us because he knows we'll let him withdraw into himself, that we'll pretend the happy face he puts on to show the world is the truth. Peter wouldn't … but Peter's too busy with his new girlfriend, or whatever it is that takes so much of his time these days."

"I've heard she's a Ravenclaw." Lily remarked absently. James blinked at the apparent non sequitur. "You know, Peter's new girlfriend. Ever noticed that most of the time he disappears, he takes homework with him?" But just as James thought he had been granted a reprieve, she shifted gears back to the original thread of conversation. "But I don't see what any of this has to do with Harry?"

"Within twenty-four hours of his arrival, Harry managed to breach barriers of Remus' that I didn't even know existed, much less was past myself. Harry … he's what Remus needs right now." James had a look of frightening determination on his face. "And I'll be damned if I'll be the one to mess that up. I'm messed up with Remus far too much already."

* * *

_:Why are you so awkward? You're never like this around me and Severus … Remus doesn't bite, I promise.:_

_:I … um. I don't know … it's just … it's been so long since we've been able to talk like this.:_

_:And you're afraid if you say the wrong thing, it'll all vanish?:_

_:Actually … I guess I sort of am …:_

He was startled back into reality by a hand on his shoulder – and bemused to find that the far wall was a lot closer than he expected. As in, about a foot away.

He could tell Remus was trying not to smile at the situation – the werewolf actually managed to retain a remarkably straight face as he pointed out, "I think we're supposed to turn here."

Harry endeavored to make his eyes as wide as possible. "You don't say …"

"I do, indeed." Remus returned with commendable gravity. "This may come as a surprise to you, but I'm sure in time you will understand that we cannot all walk through walls." He flushed suddenly. "I'm sorry … that was inexcusably rude of me."

Harry blinked. "What was?"

"Referring so flippantly to your … that is … um, the cause of your current state of –"

"My death?" Asked Harry the ever helpful.

"Er … yeah, that."

Harry shrugged. "Dying kind of sucked, though it was actually over fast enough that I almost didn't notice, but death itself has so far been a lot more interesting than I was originally led to believe. I have no regrets – well, maybe not none, but not _too_ many. Tell the truth, I'm almost happier dead than I was alive." He looked wistful for a moment. "I just wish I could talk to my old friends sometimes too."

Remus blinked. "But I thought … when you, um, get kicked out of someone's …"

"– Body that I go back to my own time?" Harry finished, seeing the werewolf looking increasingly uncomfortable – this, too, was obviously what he thought was a 'sensitive' topic to Harry. "I do … but for some reason, not everyone can see me."

"Oh … and your friends can't?" Remus, already looking sympathetic, paced onwards in silence for a few steps before finally offering a weak "That sucks."

"Yeah." Harry responded quietly. "It really does." He shook his head. "But, well … there's not much I can do about it now. And … knowing what I do now … I'd still make the same choice."

"I'm going to make sure you don't have to."

Harry looked at the older boy. "What do you …?"

"Exactly what I said." Remus said simply. "I know it won't help you, you … but _this_ you, the one who will be born four years from now into a world subtly different because of the changes you wrought … I'm going to make sure that he doesn't have to face the sorts of things you've had to. That he won't feel _obligated"_ And there, some of his anger crept in; anger not really at Harry, but at the situation he'd been put into, and the parts of his personality, and just everything that had conspired to convince him that he was some sort of modern day saviour. "to sacrifice himself to take down an enemy he shouldn't have had to even face in the first place."

"It's war, Remus." The look in Harry's eyes was older than it had any right to be. "You ought to know … you're living in one, right now. And no matter how sheltered Hogwarts may keep you, somewhere, you _know_ that something's going on out there. And it's not pretty. Yes, I was innocent. Here's a newsflash: so are a large percentage of the people that Voldemort – or his Death Eaters – ruthlessly slaughters. They deserved not to have to greet Death face to face either."

"And because of my sacrifice – the sacrifice of a single boy – there will be a lot more who won't have to any more. Let their preserved innocence be a tribute to that which I lost when Voldemort gave me this scar" he gestured, almost angrily himself, to the zigzag ridge that decorated his forehead "and I was consigned to live with people who told me – until I halfway believed it, because I certainly didn't know better otherwise – that my parents were useless drunks who mercifully killed themselves off in a car crash.

"It's worth it. If even one child was saved what I had to go through as a result of my sacrifice … it was worth it."

Ignored for the moment by the both of them, Peter felt Harry's passion and couldn't help but see his point, though he agreed far more with Remus. There was a small part of him, the part not caught up in the torrent of emotions swirling around Harry; anger and pain and nostalgia and even a bit of gratefulness – for however he reacted on the face of things, Harry was not left nearly as unaffected by Remus' solicitousness as he seemed – as well as a tangle of something else that even Peter could not decipher. And that small part took Harry's comment about Voldemort scarring him – a scar, the thought of which sparked the strongest surge of negative emotion yet – and stored it away to be considered at a later time. Something told him that it was probably important.

As for Remus … there were words, but try as he might, he could not convince them to come. They might have been thus: You _are the one child who ought to have been saved_. A small, selfish part of him protested _As long as you were alive and happy, the rest of the world could have gone hang_ and an even smaller part traitorously murmured _But perhaps it is for the best … for had you not died the way you did, I never would have met you._

Or they might have simply boiled down to one of the few things he found himself in perfect agreement with the wolf on: _If you can be saved from that … any sacrifice on my part will be worth it._ It was new, this strange consensus between his usually warring selves. But man and beast, heart at its most primitive and head agreed.

Nothing would hurt Harry again. Ever. And whatever sacrifice was necessary for Remus to make, in order to keep that vow … he would make it.

* * *

"I suppose we should go ahead and part ways here." Remus said reluctantly as they approached the door to Professor Yamada's private lab – the place Remus had judged the professor to be most likely to be at this time of day. "I guess … I'll see you around?"

"Of course." Harry replied firmly, then grimaced. "Well, snakes aren't necessarily the easiest thing to come by … so I may not _see_ you … or rather, I'll see you but you won't see me because I'll be hidden in Peter and … yeah." He seemed, for a moment, to be reaching out, before that gesture was abruptly pulled back. "I'll … talk to you later."

"Yeah. Talk to you later." Remus affirmed, making an abortive gesture of his own; a fierce desire to simply touch the younger boy, communicate his understanding and sympathy and … any manner of things, which all seemed a bit hollow when they were being reinforced by nothing but his voice; battling with an even deeper certainty that it would be the wrong thing to do. Who would want to be touched by someone – some _thing_ – like him?

They stood there a moment more, neither knowing quite how to finish the conversation, before Harry finally nodded and, with a small smile towards Remus, turned away. The young werewolf watched him go for a moment, maybe two, before abruptly shaking himself and turning back to the door.

No more than a few moments after he knocked, the door opened to a slightly frazzled-looking Potions Master. "You should know by now that when I'm in my lab I'm – oh! Mr. Lupin, is there something I can do for you?"

"Hagrid asked me to bring this to you." Remus thrust the box forward. Perhaps the blasted reptile was why Harry had come so unexpectedly to the fore. And perhaps walking with Harry had been sufficiently distracting that he had almost forgotten the contents of the box in his hands. That didn't change the fact that he did _not_ like snakes.

A bit puzzled, the shorter man opened said box slightly. "Ah … I see! Yes, this shall be very useful! I must remember to thank Hagrid next time I see him." Remus smiled a bit at his professor's obvious enthusiasm, then made the mistake of glancing down the hall to see if Harry was all the way gone yet.

Naturally curious, Professor Yamada followed his line of site, catching only a glimpse of the spirit as he turned the corner. "Who was that?"

The question rattled Remus. "It was just … Peter – I met him in the hall on the way down, and he decided he'd keep me company the rest of the way, but he didn't want to bother you …" He looked down, ashamed at having to lie about Harry, when what he really wanted to do was broadcast the spirit's presence to the world – _He's back!_ – and have them react with the same joy Remus felt every time he thought those two words.

And so he missed the look on his Potions professor's face as the man continued to look in the direction of the now-empty hallway, his eyes ever so slightly narrowed in thought.

_I don't recall Mr. Pettigrew having black hair …_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9 October 2004  
> 10 September 2012  
> 19 April 2019


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meh … Sorry guys. A bit harder a semester than I expected. Still, I managed to pull out of it with pretty good grades, and in compensation, this one should be significantly easier though, so hopefully I will experience a corresponding increase in productivity …
> 
> We all know that Harry Potter does not belong me, so I shall move on now to the important part.
> 
> (11/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

"Peter, my child … is there anything you'd like to tell me?" The ever-genial old headmaster asked. "Oh dear, how remiss of me. First - sherbet lemon?" He held out a tin.

"Erh, no thanks." The blond replied weakly. "Citrus gives me hives."

"What a pity." The man popped one into his own mouth and leaned back in his chair slightly, folding his hands. "You know you can always come to me if you're ever in any … _trouble_ , don't you?"

_:Shit, he knows!:_

_:Shut up. You're distracting me.:_

_:Sorry.:_

Peter forced himself to blink in a rather bemused fashion. "I … um … not that I know of, Headmaster. Why, was there a particular reason you wanted to see me? There hasn't been any trouble, has there?" Belatedly recalling the last thing that the Headmaster said (and he thought he'd been doing so well at answering everything in order, too), he hastily added, "And, um, certainly I'd come to you if I ever felt there was anything that you needed to know, or that I needed to tell you, or anything like that." He had the feeling that he was babbling, and just hoped that he was doing so in such a way as to convince the headmaster of his sincerity.

"Indeed there has not. Been any trouble, that is." Dumbledore chuckled in a way that invited him to share the joke. "A fact that, given the proclivities of your particular group of friends, has more than one of the faculty quite worried, I assure you."

Peter flushed. "I, well … I guess we've finally started to grow up?" _Okay, that came out sounding more hesitant than I'd like, but I've lied greater lies to cannier people. Like, say, my mother …_

"And … grow apart?"

Peter flinched, hating that it got to him. "It happens, sometimes. James … made a decision I did not – _could_ not – accept. So … we're still friends, but … we're not the people we used to be anymore." He forced himself to relax his grip on his braid – a sure sign that he was nervous, but hopefully one that Dumbledore would attribute to the more general anxiety of being called to the headmaster's office.

"It is hard to learn that your friends are not who you thought they were." The Headmaster said gravely. "Harder still to do what is right when that may seem like a betrayal … if new friends are not as beneficial an influence as old, or when old friends have transformed into someone you find you really don't know anymore." Somehow, Peter got the idea that they weren't talking about James anymore.

"Oh, it's nothing nearly so serious as all that." Peter forced himself to project a certain amount of relief – the sort that would be appropriate for a troublemaker who found out he wasn't in trouble after all. "We may not be as close anymore, but I'm hardly about to go challenge James to a duel to the death." This time it was he who chuckled invitingly. "Simply a difference of opinion."

"It is sad that such an interesting era has come to a premature end. Although I'm sure most of your professors would not agree." Dumbledore winked. "I must admit, I was quite looking forward to seeing what sort of outrageous prank you four would pull out as a going away present."

"Now, for _that_ cause, I would be willing to work even with my mortal enemies." Peter proclaimed with only partly false cheer. "You're quite right, professor. We really ought to get cracking on that … only a couple of months left, after all."

The blond stood, and the headmaster stood with him, coming around to the front side of the desk. "You do know you can come to me for anything, don't you, my boy?" The man reiterated. "No matter how slight the problem, my door is open."

 _And do you say that to all your students, or just the precious Gryffindors?_ It always amused Peter when he noticed that his mental voice of reason (or, as he preferred to refer to it, his voice of cynicism) now spoke with Severus' voice. It was somehow … fitting. "I'll keep that in mind, Headmaster. Thank you."

"Anytime, my boy, anytime."

And with one last troublemaker-relieved-at-not-actually-being-in-trouble-after-all grin, Peter escaped with his secret, he hoped, still intact. Mostly.

As Peter left, Dumbledore looked down at the short note Professor Yamada had given him detailing his experience and tapped his fingers thoughtfully. He drew a sheet of paper and wrote out a reply to the effect that he had investigated the professor's concerns and thanked him for taking the time to air them.

A brief read-through satisfied him that his wording was appropriate; after that it was a simple matter to direct Fawkes to take it to the diminutive professor or, if he was not present or otherwise occupied, just leave it on his desk.

He then returned to contemplation. It seemed the child was innocent enough – as innocent as the Marauders ever were, certainly. There was a distinct possibility that Hiroyuki had simply been mistaken. However, that particular group of four were nothing if not consummate liars – and Peter commonly believed to be the best of the lot (either that or he of all of them most often actually told the truth).

There was no way to tell for certain which it was, truth or very carefully crafted lie. And he was learning better than to underestimate the wily spirit. Today had been a calculated risk that had, unfortunately, proven not to be as helpful as he hoped.

For now, he would bide his time.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Peter collapsed bonelessly across the foot of Severus' bed – undisputedly the most comfortable object of furniture in his fairly spartan room. _:Gah.:_

 _:I would agree to that.:_ Harry said dryly.

Peter closed his eyes. He preferred doing that when talking to Harry; it made it easier to pretend that he was just chatting with a nearby friend. _:So you would agree that we're screwed?:_

 _:Sounds like a pretty accurate description of the situation, yes.:_ Harry sighed. _:He's suspicious, now … well, I'm sure he's been suspicious ever since I disappeared last time, but now he has a rather firmer suspicion. He'll find a way to cook something up to let him discover the truth sometime soon.:_ A snort. _:I wouldn't be surprised if he had laced those lemon drops with some sort of truth serum.:_

Peter laughed. _:Good thing I had an ironclad excuse not to take one, then.:_ At Harry's faint surprise, he raised an eyebrow at his passenger. _:What, you thought I was lying?:_

_:Oh, like you were being ever so frank in the rest of that conversation?:_

_:I prefer to think of it as … hm … shall we say, a constructive restructuring of the truth.:_

_:You, my friend, have been hanging out around Snape far too long.:_

_:I think I'll take that as a compliment.:_

At which point the latest subject of conversation glided out of the bathroom adorned by only two fluffy white towels – one wrapping up his hair, and one around his waist. One lock had escaped to plaster itself in a vaguely curl-shaped fashion against the side of his neck.

Both visible humans blinked. And Harry experienced a surprised reaction that, were he capable of doing so, would most likely have caused him to blink.

Severus squeaked, and dove back into the bathroom. Peter sat up and made a point of flopping back down on the same portion of the bed but facing _away_ from the bathroom.

"Sorry. Didn't realize you were still showering."

"It's what I always do at this time of day." Severus called from the bathroom. "You're usually not around until at least an hour or two from now."

"I just got out of a meeting with Dumbledore."

The Slytherin reappeared into his field of view, hair dripping a bit and darker than usual from the water, but looking otherwise like his normal self. "I don't know whether to be pleased or disturbed that the first place you decided to come to was _my_ room."

Peter considered that thought for a moment. "Come to think of it … that makes two of us." As Harry expressed his opinion, he added, "And Harry would like to make that sentiment unanimous."

Severus sat at the desk, habitually conjuring up a chair across from it for Peter. The Gryffindor pulled himself off the bed and pointedly made the conjured chair – as spartan as the rest of Severus' room – somewhat more comfortable before sitting down. Severus rolled his eyes.

It approached a ritual; essentially the same pattern had been followed every time Peter came to visit since … oh, probably the third or fourth time. Once the ritual had been followed, however, Severus became all business. "So you think he knows?"

Peter rubbed his forehead. "I'm afraid so. I wouldn't swear to it, but … he was laying it on just a little too thick, you know?" He flapped his hand in a way meant to be effeminate. " _Oh,_ dear boy, just _remember_ you can come see me _anytime_ , for _anything_ , no matter _how_ small."

Severus snorted – the closest he usually came to laughter – then shook his head. "For a _Gryffindor_ , perhaps."

It was several years before Peter finally explained what it was that had caused him to break out into uncontrollable laughter.

* * *

"Has anyone come up with some adult contacts that they think can be trusted since last we met?" Petunia, who to her never-ending dismay seemed to have become fairly entrenched in the leadership of their group, asked. Then, to head off an incipient outpour, "Yes, Sarah, we know about your brother Mark. We'll deal with that next Hogweed weekend."

"Hogsmeade." The majority of the Hogwarts students corrected her en masse, while the blonde previously addressed settled back into her seat, a bit disgruntled but mostly amused at how thoroughly she had been anticipated.

"Hogsmeade, right. Is there anyone else?"

Holly – one of the newer members of the group – raised her hand tentatively. "I've written a letter to my mum, explaining … well, you know. About You-Know-Who and all that stuff that we've been trained to hide from our parents to keep them from worrying." She bit her lip. "I hope she takes it okay. She accepted my being a witch well enough, but …"

Everyone in the room with at least one Muggle parent nodded understandingly. No matter how much and often their parents claimed they accepted their child's differences, spending the last several years in the wizarding world had brought with it a certain amount of indoctrination … and far too many stories about burnings at the stake and similar horrors. Enough to make anyone wary, even if only subconsciously, no matter how well they thought they knew their parents.

"That's two, then."

"My Uncle Jack owns a hunting range." One of the two new boys – Stephan, Petunia thought his name was – contributed. "I thought, we could get people certified for hunting and firearm ownership, maybe … and my mum's a witch, so he's used to the whole magic thing, even though he doesn't really know the full extent of our current situation either."

The remaining new member, Daniel, scratched his head. "So you're saying that I'm the only person we know who actually told their parents the full and unvarnished truth about the situation with You-Know-Who originally?"

"No _wonder_ they almost didn't let you come back second year!" Stephan burst, with the air of someone who had finally solved a terribly complicated puzzle. Petunia vaguely recalled something about the two of them being dorm-mates, which would explain their apparent familiarity with each other.

But this was hardly the time to be speculating and bemoaning what a bad memory she had for details; there was other business to be dealt with and not a lot of time to deal with it in, if they wanted to maintain the illusion that there wasn't some sort of conspiracy going on.

Of course, they were all Hufflepuffs. People would probably just assume they'd set up a knitting circle or something. More the fool them.

"So, Veronica, how's your project coming?" Being the most Ravenclaw-esque of the lot (although Stephan occasionally showed signs of giving her a run for her money), the Asian girl had actually been put in charge of several projects, so Petunia felt she probably ought to clarify further. "The, um, charms to block that memory spell."

"Obliviate." She reminded Petunia, despite the fact that she had done so many times before and the Muggle had yet to listen to her. "And … well … about that …" She actually looked discomfited, an unusual expression for the Ravenclaw-like Hufflepuff. "I think I've actually made a significant breakthrough, but, well …"

It then became apparent why she had taken up a place near the door of the room they had finally picked out – she opened the door and ushered in a new person. "… the breakthrough wasn't really mine."

"I _told_ you we needed to be more careful." Sarah's exasperated voice could be heard. "Hufflepuffs. Honestly."

The new girl turned to Ronnie, a small, startled smile on her face. "I thought you said I'd be the only Slytherin." Upon turning, her crest – the Slytherin serpent indeed – became clearly visible.

Petunia shook her head. "There aren't any Slytherins here other than you. That's just our resident quota of sarcasm speaking."

"I prefer to think of myself as one of the final bastions of good sense." Sarah informed the group snootily, then shrieked with laughter when Edwin showed the good sense to grab her and muss her hair. "Hey, geroff!"

"You are one of the oddest conspiracy groups I've been involved with." The Slytherin commented.

"You've been involved in others?"

"I'm a _Slytherin_." The girl rolled her eyes. "If you haven't been involved in at least four or five conspiracies by the time you hit fifth year, you're almost not worth your name."

Petunia rubbed her nose. "I hate to sound prejudiced, but from what I've heard, a Slytherin is the last person I'd expect to be in this particular group."

The girl blinked. "Well, I will admit that I don't really care whether the Muggles know about the wizarding world or not – I don't have an opinion one way or the other, really. And I don't exactly see how it will make any difference one way or the other in this war against Voldemort. But it's something that's going to make a difference. And while conspiracies to sneak an extra dessert after dinner without anyone else learning are all very well and good, they don't really have any impact on the world."

Edwin's eyes narrowed. "You're being awfully straight-forward."

"I'm among Hufflepuffs." A shrug. "When in Rome …"

"I say we might as well let her in. Better than wondering what she's doing with the information." Elle contributed. "On one condition." Her eyes narrowed. "You might not care about Muggleborns or Voldemort or any number of things, but we do. You _must_ respect that. And your actions need to agree with those goals. No trying to turn this to Voldemort's benefit or anything like that."

The girl considered that for a moment. "Very well."

Elle turned to Edwin and Petunia. "You know my vote."

Petunia stepped forward. "I'm Petunia Evans, one of the de facto leaders of this group. I'm also a Muggle. Can you deal with that?"

"I already said I was fine with muggleborns …" the girl began, exasperation creeping into her voice.

Exasperation creeping into her own voice (she had been the victim of this particular misunderstanding entirely too many times), Petunia said, "I'm not a Muggleborn. I'm a _Muggle_. Not a drop of magic in me."

A blink. "Oh. That's, um, different." A shrug. "But as long as you have intelligence and some notion of strategy – as long as you're a decent leader and aren't expecting to lead us onto the field of magical battle or anything like that … I'm fine with it."

"Then it sounds like you're in …?" Petunia raised an eyebrow in a silent request for an introduction.

The other girl shook her head briefly, then nodded firmly and took Petunia's outstretched hand. "I'm Violet Rosier."

* * *

_:I expected it to be easier, you know?:_ The habit too ingrained for him to even take much conscious notice of the actions themselves, Peter idly watched his reflection cast a basic tooth-cleansing charm – applied starting when wizarding children were simply babies, and supposedly a lifelong charm, but daily reapplication was still recommended – and splash water on his face.

 _:I bet Hermione would love that charm.:_ There was a misty smile to Harry's musings. _:Even her parents might approve of it, since it still requires the same sort of daily upkeep that brushing one's teeth does.:_

Peter's reflection frowned. _:I think I saw someone brushing their teeth once. With a small stick that had … bristles stuck to it. Like a brush, only smaller. It looked horridly uncomfortable.:_

Harry laughed. _:That's arguably the point. You make something painful, people are more likely to remember it. And even if they don't particularly_ want _to do it, they'll be more likely to think it worth being done. No pain, no gain, as the saying goes.:_

The blond raised an eyebrow, knowing that Harry would see his reflection doing it even if he didn't notice and properly interpret the muscle movement. _:That strikes me as a very Muggle saying. You might have noticed that we wizards … are not necessarily all that fond of the whole pain thing. We try to make life easier when possible, actually.:_

_:Well, Muggles do the same thing. Convenience over effort, that is … But it's still … I don't know. Ingrained on some level, I guess.:_

The impression of a headshake. _:Sorry … I get these occasional bursts of nostalgia. You were saying something about … something?:_

 _:I can tell you were listening very closely.:_ Peter grinned, although the amused expression fell away gradually as he continued. _:I was just thinking … I expected this to be easier. You know, the two of us, together?:_ He ran the braid between his thumb and forefinger, checking for any obvious kinks. There was nothing too outstanding, so he flipped it back over his shoulder, making the executive decision not to re-braid it. _:After all, it's not like we practically hate each other, like you and James or Sirius or probably Lily … though I wouldn't blame you if you did …:_

 _:Hey, what have I told you? You and the Wormtail from my time are_ not _the same person. I'm_ not _going to blame you for his misdeeds. That would be like … like hating this Snape because he made my potions classes a living hell for four years running. Or instantly taking to Remus because he was my favorite Defense teacher ever.:_

 _:Are you saying you're not taken with Moony?:_ Again with the eyebrow raising … and a very definite bubble of amusement.

 _:Yes, I mean NO, I mean … gah. Of_ course _I like Remus. I defy anyone_ not _to. But I didn't just mindlessly like him solely because of my experience with his older version.:_ Staunchly, :I _think he's likable enough in his own right.:_

_:Preaching to the choir, my friend. Remember, I've been friends with him for the last seven years … ever since we first met on the train. Offered me half his only chocolate frog, he did … and after that, well, I was his friend for life.:_

_:The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, eh?:_

_:See? I really wish I could have smacked you across the backside of the head just now. In only the most kind and comradely of fashions, of course.:_

_:… I got the idea you had a point you were intending to bring up sometime … or have we scared it into submission already?:_

_:Oh, right. My point. Well … I was just thinking, I used to figure that you'd probably end up a guest in my head someday. You certainly seem to be making the rounds, intentionally or not. And, truth to tell, I was kinda looking forward to it. I mean, you, me, we're pretty good friends. Coexisting in the space of one head can't be that hard, can it? It's not like you can leave your dirty laundry draped on my nose or, or read my diary while I'm not looking, or anything like that. Or like I can do anything similarly annoying to you.:_

Still running on autopilot, he packed his bookbag with books and assignments to turn in for the classes he had that day and slung it over one shoulder. Which always brought to mind his mother's lecture when he was much younger about how if he wore his bookbag on one shoulder all the time, he would end up an old hunchback doomed to die friendless and alone. And because he was a dutiful son (well, mostly …), this always (well, usually) prompted him to slip on the other strap so that the weight was more properly balanced.

_:So, I was just saying. I thought it would be easy … and it's not. We're friends, but we just don't … have enough in common, maybe? And actually, it would probably have been easier if we hated each other's guts … at least then I wouldn't feel guilty and torn when we both want … different things.:_

_:You're most comfortable around Severus these days.:_ Harry observed. _:It surprised me at first, but … that's the way it is. And while I see him almost as a brother –:_ a tangle of embarrassment and … awe? that Peter couldn't quite parse accompanied that thought.

 _:Right now, at least, Remus is a greater draw to you.:_ Peter continued, nodding to himself as he walked down the hall. A girl in front of him, passing in the other direction – Gryffindor by her badge, probably several years younger given that he didn't recognize her at a glance – smiled and blushed and then squeaked a bit and hurried onward. Belatedly, he realized she had probably thought he was nodding towards _her_. _:And there's no doubt in my mind that Remus is my friend, but …:_

For a moment it occurred to him to wish that the stone hallways were a bit less solidly made; he suddenly really wanted something to kick at, something that wouldn't just give him a stubbed toe, but would then make that comforting skittering noise as it disappeared further down the hall, possibly to be kicked again at some later point. Unfortunately, the floor was too well made to have provided any helpfully loose stones.

 _:He is my friend, but Severus is my friend too. And as I've been getting closer to Severus, I've been drawing further away from Remus … I tried, once or twice, to invite him to Severus' and my hanging out sessions, but … it never really worked out quite right, even the few times he came before we all kind of … gave up.:_ Again, the wish for a stray piece of _something_ to kick, this time out of frustration. _:It doesn't help that Remus seems perfectly content to withdraw. And you seem to be the only one who can pull him out of it anymore … I don't really know how to read him anymore and James and Sirius never did.:_

 _:He seemed fine when I saw him …:_ The hint of a wry smile. _:At least, before my awkwardness ruined things.:_

 _:If it makes you feel any better, I doubt he ascended out of his own pit of awkwardness far enough to actually notice you were as bad off as he.:_ A snort. _:And see, here would be a good time for a comforting hand on your shoulder.:_ He shook his head, tired. _:We want different things, we're needed in different places …:_

 _:Yeah …:_ Harry said quietly. _:We may be friends, but we're too different as people. And you're right. It's a lot harder when I can't even properly resent you for spending time with Severus instead of letting me be around Remus.:_

 _:Want me to go spend some time with James instead?:_ Peter asked lightly. _:I could help him dream up some utterly_ awful _prank. Give you a good excuse to blow off some steam, get a good boil of resentment going. Would probably be good for you.:_

_:You do realize that that metaphor holds no water.:_

_:Pot. Kettle.:_

So it happened that by the time he slid into his now-customary seat beside Remus, the smile had begun to return to his face.

"What has you in such a good mood?" The werewolf asked quietly, under the cover of intentionally loud movement of books and other preparations for the beginning of class.

"Just … a bit of wordplay with … you know." He jerked his head upward slightly. "How are _you_ doing?"

Remus' dawning smile died and was replaced by blankness. "Eh. Well enough." A shrug. "It's only just past the new moon. Won't be another full for weeks yet."

"That's not what I meant …"

His deskmate rolled his eyes and reached over to tug at the blond braid, a bit of good-natured exasperation cracking the blankness. "I'm _fine_ , mother. Stop worrying."

Out of long habit, their conversation had been held at 'plotting-something-dreadful' levels – that is, as near to nonexistent as could be managed and still be heard – but the hair-pulling had attracted the professor's attention anyway.

Professor McGonagall seemed to appear out of nowhere (a habit she had far more often than any of the Marauders had ever found comforting), staring sternly down her nose at the two miscreants. "Boys … do I need to separate you?"

"No, Professor McGonagall. We'll be good. We promise." They replied in stereo.

With a disbelieving snort, the middle-aged professor ( _:She has a lot less grey in her hair than when I knew her.:_ was Harry's comment) shook her head but seemed content to leave it at that … for now. She swept back to the front and rapped her wand sharply on the desk to signify the start of class.

Everyone automatically came to attention – even, Peter was amused to note, Harry. _:She still do that in your time?:_

 _:A lot is different.:_ Harry observed, apparently idly. _:But some things, I doubt will ever change.:_

 _:… Harry?:_ Peter asked, several minutes later.

_:No, I'm afraid I don't know how to change a placemat into a peacock. Or the other way, for that matter, either.:_

Peter snorted into his placemat, appeasing Remus' questioning look with another quick glance upwards. Of course, in that brief moment, Remus' placemat – which so far looked still looked more or less like a placemat, if a placemat were to have clawed feet, a beak, and a rather fine peacock tail – managed to escape from his control and skittered away.

 _:A good thing to know so that I won't ask you in the future, but not really what I meant.:_ The blond said, as he tried hard not to snicker at the picture of poor Remus trying to convince his birdlike placemat that no, James' shoes were not appropriate chewing material. _:I just … well, I know I said this isn't easy, but I wanted to let you know that that doesn't mean I really resent you being here. You know? It's more difficult than I expected, but that doesn't mean it's bad.:_

Harry was too caught up in laughing at the way James' fully formed peacock seemed determined to fight Remus' poor mutant for dominance – that is, before its creator went a bit too far and colored it a particularly virulent shade of neon green. Highly offended, it then proceeded to join the attack against James' shoes.

That much, while funny, was certainly no worse than other tricks Peter had seen pulled (and helped pull off himself) in his day. What took the cake, though, was when Sirius added to the chaos by changing his placemat into a pea _hen_. As he proclaimed to all and sundry that he could hardly do anything else to such a _girly_ looking placemat, James' peacock … shall we say, lost all interest in his shoes.

Less than a minute later, class had been called short for the day and the class had been ushered out of the room by a pink-cheeked McGonagall.

Then, and only then, Harry finally managed to regain control of himself. _:Okay … so all hope of a serious conversation kinda went out the window for a while there …:_ One last snort. _:Um. Anyway. Thanks. And you're not so bad either. I've had a pretty good time stuck in your head. Even if I_ was _subjected to the scarring sight of you two sleeping together.:_

 _:Oi!:_ Peter spluttered, unable for a moment to form even coherent thoughts. _:For one thing, it was a_ nap _. We were both_ tired. _It lasted for less than an hour –:_

 _:Two and a half.:_ Harry corrected helpfully. _:I timed it.:_

_:– and it wouldn't have happened at all if we hadn't stayed up late the night before working on homework.:_

_:Uh huh. Excuses.:_

_:You were there! You_ know _it was completely innocent. Besides … a little bird informed me that you've taken your turn in his bed as well. People in glass houses …:_

 _:Uh huh.:_ Peter got the distinct feeling that, had Harry been corporeal and right in front of him, his head would have been receiving a rather vigorous pat on the head. _:Wormtail, my friend … your head's a pretty cozy place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live here.:_

 _:Thanks. I …:_ He paused. _:Wait – hey!:_ A moment of fuming. _:Oh, for the ability to smack you in the back of the head …:_

But really, he couldn't get too mad. He'd gotten what he needed to off his chest, with no hard feelings and no harm done … the situation could be far worse than this.

And for that knowledge, he could deal with the occasional frustrated annoyance. _:I_ will _figure out how to do it someday. And when I do …:_

Okay, so he never claimed he would deal with it _well_ …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6 January 2005  
> 10 September 2012  
> 19 April 2019


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... And despite programming being literally my job, I don't remember enough Perl to have successfully constructed that disclaimer without reference, either. :D 
> 
> ==
> 
> Ech. No school, and I still can't write at a pace worth a damn.
> 
> Still, it's something, I suppose.
> 
> my disclaim "Harry Potter does not belong to me";  
> print disclaim if (not (HarryPotter == mine));
> 
> (… Yes, I've been studying Perl.)
> 
> (11/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

_::You're hurting me, you insensitive jerk.::_

"Um … look. I don't like snakes very much. In fact, I'm kinda afraid of you. But I'd really like you to do something for me."

 _::I wouldn't give you the time of day if you got down on your knees and_ begged _. And stop holding me so tight!::_

"You see, I have this friend. And, well …"

_::Good god. Not just any teenager. Oh no. It would have to be an angsty teenager with girl problems who absolutely reeks of wolf. Nasty creatures, those.::_

"It's complicated. But I can only see him when he's in the presence of a snake."

_::Excuse me. Boy troubles. That's at least an attempt at originality.::_

"And, well, I _really_ want to spend some more time with him. So since I happened to see you, and managed to catch you, I was wondering if you would mind terribly much if I brought you with me?"

_::What would you do if I said 'yes', furbrain?::_

"You'll probably like Harry. He talks to snakes too, well, you know, like I do. But I don't think he's afraid of you the way I am. And he's a really nice person."

_::Harry … hey, isn't that …?::_

The large being (and no wonder that he had troubles, with a face as ugly as that! Or perhaps all humans were similarly disfigured … he hadn't met _that_ many, after all) stood and started walking towards the large stone structure called 'school' and 'Hogwarts', jolting the snake's body painfully with each step.

He looked down, surprised, when he felt the remainder of the snake's body wrap around his forearm and squeeze comfortably tight. "Oh … so I take it that you don't mind after all?" From the tenseness in the boy's arm, the snake suspected it was only the thought of this mysterious boy he wanted to meet – this 'Harry' – that kept the smelly human from throwing him as far away as possible.

_::It should be interesting. Besides, if you're going to be dragging me in there anyway, the least you could do is allow me to take a more comfortable position.::_

_::And_ would _you stop gripping my head so tightly?::_

* * *

As was often the case with the halls in Hogwarts, Lily heard Peter coming before she saw him. Remus she did see first – how he managed to be that quiet even when walking normally, she'd never quite figured out – but he passed quickly from her range of view. Given that it was a Saturday and she didn't have any real obligations at the moment – her next assignment wasn't due until Wednesday – she quickly succumbed to her curiosity and followed.

"… I brought, um, something." The brown-haired boy sounded more tentative than usual, as if that 'something' might not be necessarily happily received. Curiosity sparked even further, she snuck to the corner and peeked around. Peter was facing towards her, but didn't seem to be paying much attention to his surroundings (bar Remus), and Remus had his back to her – and a _snake_ around his arm.

Now, Lily may not have shared a dorm room with Remus, and she was certain that she did not know even close to all his secrets, but they _had_ lived in relatively close proximity for the past seven years. She _knew_ he was practically phobic of snakes. She had _been_ there in that one Herbology class in third year when he had practically fainted upon coming unexpectedly face-to-face harmless garden snake. (And while he might not have actually fainted, his screech was still legendary.) To see him actually _carrying_ one …

Then all became clear. Seemingly spontaneously, Peter melted away, to be replaced by a very familiar visage. Remus' arm came out from behind his back, arms gesturing vaguely as he apologized for something; Harry – for the black-haired apparition that had taken Peter's place could be no one else – also gestured, accepting or waving away the apology; she wasn't quite sure, as she couldn't hear very well through the rushing in her ears.

 _Harry._ It was one thing for James to tell her he thought he heard him but pull her away before she got a look herself; quite another to not only see him, but see who he was currently possessing _and_ the likely cause of the transformation from said possessee.

She turned away and paced back down the hall the way she'd came. Dumbledore would certainly want to know this.

 _Harry … he's what Remus needs right now._ The memory appeared so sudden and clear that it felt almost like a physical slap to the face. _And I'll be damned if I'll be the one to mess that up. I've messed up with Remus far too much already._

Determination of a different sort hardened her face and lengthened her stride. _No. I won't do it._ She paused, looking back towards the corner, hesitating. Then determination returned, and she nodded once, sharply. With a short incantation and a complex wave of her wand (roughly resembling a cloverleaf), she hit that general area – and more to the point, any group of people in that area – with one of the stronger, but simultaneously less obvious, concealment charms that she knew.

_As strange as it seems, James holds a certain amount of trust in you. And I'm willing to trust his judgment. But you had better hope his faith in you is justified._

_Because if you hurt Remus, never mind what James'll do to you. I'll hunt you down_ myself.

Meanwhile, maybe she'd take a look at that Charms homework after all.

* * *

"… I brought, um, something." Remus smiled uncertainly.

Peter's eyes widened impossibly large. "A present? For _me?_!" When Remus made as if to punch him (his other arm, presumably holding the present, whatever it was, remained behind his back), he leaned out of the way and grinned. "Seriously … what is it?"

"… well …"

 _::Oh, for God's sake … spit it out already.::_ If it had been a motion possible for snake anatomy, this particular one would have been rolling its eyes. _::I swear, you are the most hesitant human I have_ ever _encountered.::_

 _::Cut him some slack … he's nervous.::_ The snake's head whipped up in shock at the unexpected voice, unable to place it until he found himself brought around in front of the boy that tasted of wolf (and why on earth he would think that, he hadn't a clue … this hesitant human was certainly the least wolf-like creature he had ever encountered).

"Shit, Harry, I'm sorry … tell Peter I'm sorry, too … I picked this thing" Remus waved the hand holding the snake around, prompting a hiss of displeasure (both about being waved around so cavalierly, and about being referred to as a 'thing') "up, but I wasn't going to show him to you until I had explained, but then you changed anyway, and I'm really sorry …"

Harry raised his hands placatingly. "Whoa, whoa. Calm down, Remus. 'Sokay … we would have appreciated a little more warning, yeah … but it's obvious that you _meant_ to give us that warning, so … it's the thought that counts, right? Besides, it's not like anyone saw us."

Remus belatedly changed a motion so that it was the fingers on his unencumbered hand that combed through his hair. "And thank Merlin for that … if my actions had directly caused your dismissal, or harm in any way, or anything … I don't know if I'd have been able to forgive myself."

Harry gave that the solemn consideration it deserved. "I can't say that I blame you for feeling that way. It's how I would react as well. But …" an abortive movement in Remus' direction followed by a brusque shake of his head. "… as long as there are no malicious intentions involved – and I'm operating on the assumption that there aren't; you are many things, Remus, but I've never seen you be actively malicious … I don't think it's in your nature."

The werewolf could feel his face heating up, and desperately hoped he wasn't actively blushing. Harry's intent regard, however (which, of course, hardly helped the situation, as it just increased his embarrassment), rather disabused him of that notion. He opened his mouth to make some sort of contrary statement (Harry was making him out to be some kind of saint, and he certainly wasn't that great … how could he be?), but the words all stuck in his throat.

Finally that intensity dropped off as the younger wizard shook his head. "Sorry … where was I?" He cocked his head, eyes going momentarily distant. "Right, thanks Peter. What I was trying to say … I won't try to convince you to forgive yourself, if that ever happens; I know that's probably entirely a lost cause. But … I want you to know that even if you can't forgive yourself … I'll forgive you."

"I …" Why was it that he had such a hard time stringing together a coherent sentence? "… I don't know what to say. I can't believe … I just …"

Harry grinned impishly. "I'm sure you don't think you deserve my faith in you. Well, tough beans. You have it anyway."

"I …" And finally, words, did come. Now it was him looking at Harry intently. "You're right. I don't deserve it. But … I'm going to do my damnedest to live up to it anyway. I won't make you sorry you put your faith in me."

Again, the younger boy cocked his head – a mannerism Remus was beginning to associate with when he and Peter were talking; knowing that, he just rocked back on his heels and waited patiently. He didn't have to wait long; soon enough Harry was hitting his forehead with his palm. "Ah, geez … I'm so inconsiderate." His eyes flicked back towards Remus. "Peter just reminded me … you must be awfully uncomfortable, having that snake on your arm the whole time. Would you like me to take him?"

"Ah … it's all right …" Remus tried to demur, in an effort not to seem a burden. But between Harry's polite-yet-disbelieving look and the fact that he was sure Peter was filling his ears with all the embarrassing stories about his run-ins with this particular breed of reptile (up to and including that time in third year when he almost fainted) … well … his dignity was likely already in shreds already, right? He sighed. "… Would you? Please?"

Harry gently detached the snake from where it had wrapped itself around Remus' arm. "I'm impressed … it must have liked you. Snakes have a tendency of defecating when they get scared."

Remus' voice cracked. "I might have _snake poop_ on me?!"

 _::Oh, please. I'd never be that uncivilized.::_ Said reptile snorted. _::Well … at least not as long as my curiosity continues to outweigh my common sense …::_

* * *

Through a bit of stealth and a few hasty Disillusionment Charms (they were in the middle of learning them in seventh-year Charms at the moment, Remus explained, as an excuse for the way they were a bit patchy and more than a little wobbly around the edges), the two and their snake chaperone managed to find their way to an empty terrace – something both agreed was a bit more conducive to private conversation than standing in the middle of an open hallway just _waiting_ for someone else to come along.

"This is a nice place." Remus observed idly, propping his feet up on an unoccupied chair. "How'd you find it? … If you don't mind me asking, that is."

Harry shook his head. "It wasn't me, actually. Peter …" he coughed, cheeks tinged pink, "… suggested it. He said it was nice and secluded and relatively soundproof as well, and since that was pretty much what we were looking for …"

Remus combined Harry's words with his blushing and quickly drew the correct conclusion as to just what Peter had been up to when he first discovered this place. He, too, coughed. "Yes, well … thank him for me? This is really a nice place."

"I wonder if it's still around … later?" Harry looked around. "I would … it would have been nice to have someplace like this to come every now and then. Especially near the end of last semester, when I was studying so hard."

"The common room a bit too busy for your tastes?" Remus observed. "I know it sometimes is for me … I've laced my bed curtains with two-way silencing charms and set up a portable lamp, though, so I generally go there when I want more than the usual level of quiet."

Harry looked thoughtful. "A lamp … now there's a nice idea I didn't think of. I've had silencing charms up since the beginning of the year, but since all my roommates know about them, they have no compunctions about opening the curtains and dragging me out anyway if they felt it necessary."

Remus grinned, showing a few too many teeth. "Oh, the other three learned very early on that disturbing me while I was studying would bring a fate worse than death down on their heads." Harry raised his eyebrows, and Remus' grin grew positively evil. "I wouldn't help _them_ with _their_ homework."

Harry grinned back. "You really _are_ evil." The werewolf made a show of buffing his fingertips against his shirt and then examining them. "Unfortunately, that same trick wouldn't have worked for me …" his grin turned lopsided "… although Hermione would probably have had a good laugh at the idea of needing my help with her homework." He sighed. "… I wish she were here right now. I could use her cool head."

"You seem to be doing an admirable job to me." Remus offered hesitantly. "I doubt I'd be holding up nearly as well in your place."

"Yeah, except for my whole love affair with blurting out information I never intended to." Harry scoffed. "If Hermione were here, I bet all of you would never have even suspected anything was wrong, much less learned that I'm –" He cut himself off.

"… That you're …?"

Harry sighed. "I just almost did it again …"

Remus' face fell, and he looked away. _I wish you trusted me, Harry …_

"Argh!"

Remus looked up, curious, at the sudden exclamation. "Sorry, it's just that … it's the first time we've gotten to talk in ages … and here I am, messing everything up with my issues." Harry apologized ruefully.

"I think everyone's entitled to a few issues." Remus dared to joke, gently. "Merlin knows I have enough of my own … pretty sad pair that makes us, eh?"

Harry closed his eyes. "Peter says he hasn't seen anything this sad since the last time James tried to sway Lily with his best puppy-eyes look." A pause. "I'm pretty sure he's joking."

Remus had to choke back a laugh at Harry's deadpanned tone. "I would hope so … there are just no words to describe how pitiful a sight that is."

"…I really am sorry, though." Harry said suddenly. "I … okay, I've never done this before, so it'll probably come out all wrong and stupid, but … your presence, your company … you mean a lot to me. And I know that what we have is based on a lot of misconceptions, because of the stuff I haven't said … but it's still … what we have means a lot to me. And I'm just so afraid that … if I were to let everything out, tell you everything … that I'd lose you too." He let out a shaky sigh. "I told you it was stupid, didn't I?"

"It's not stupid. Not at all." Remus protested immediately. "I mean … I can't say that I'm happy that you're keeping all these secrets about yourself … I can truthfully say that I'm really not. But I'm trying my best to understand, and not pressure you, because I know that I … well, I've kept my share of secrets in my time, too. And I understand that much, at least, even if I don't understand what you're keeping secret or why you feel you have to."

"You've done a lot better at keeping your secrets than I've been doing with mine." Harry noted wryly.

"Practice."

"… I wish you hadn't needed that practice."

"… And I wish you didn't feel like you needed it now." A weighty pause, before Remus matched Harry's wry smile. "And if wishes were horses …"

"… we all would ride." Harry finished.

"Actually, I was about to say 'no one would go hungry', but …" Remus grinned toothily.

"Remus! Gross!" Harry laughed through his disgust at the mental image that evoked.

The werewolf just continued to smile, allowing the toothy edges to fall away so that it better reflected his simple contentment with seeing Harry's genuine laughter, even if it was at such a poor joke as this.

 _::Horses would be a bit large for my tastes as well, I admit.::_ The snake, until then having remained respectfully silent (in other words, eavesdropping with all its might, in the hopes of gaining some interesting morsel of information), seemed convinced it was necessary for him to contribute an opinion as well.

 _::Oh, don't you start.::_ Harry muttered – quite interesting, really, the sounds that resulted from an attempt to mutter hissing.

 _::So it is really true! You_ are _the speaker of our tongue of which I had heard so many rumors. I feared at first that your speaking intelligibly was a simple coincidence … I had expected there to be some sort of sign of who you are; yet you seem just as human as the rest of them.::_

 _::A sign like what?::_ Harry asked bitterly, still in a low tone. _::The Chamber of Secrets being opened so those poor starved basilisks can kill even more innocent humans? I'm sorry, but if that's what you were expecting, you're going to go home disappointed.::_

 _::You value life. That, I think is a good thing.::_ The snake calmly replied, for that was the answer it knew, although it knew not of any opening of what it supposed was the Chamber, that place where their giant cousins resided.

But the silence in human conversation had grown a bit stretched. "Um … Harry?" At the questioning tone, Harry lifted his head from where it had sunk to look more fully at the snake. "Are you … all right?"

 _::Yeah, sure … I'm fine. Sorry.::_ Harry replied, scratching at the base of his neck.

Remus looked confused.

"I said I'm fine … sorry for losing track of the conversation like that."

"No …" Remus' brow furrowed. "You didn't … you hissed at me."

Harry shook his head stubbornly. "No, I –" realization widened his eyes. "… shit." That last came out weakly, as he tried to quell his rising panic. A feeling not at all helped by the frown on Remus' face or the way he could almost _hear_ the gears clicking in his friend's brain.

"You." The word hit the tense silence like a gunshot; Harry visibly flinched. "Are a Parselmouth, aren't you?" The werewolf shook his head. "Never mind. The look on your face is answer enough."

Harry swallowed. "Remus, I …"

" _This_ was your secret?" Remus interrupted incredulously. " _This_ is what you were trying so hard to keep me from learning?" He snapped his fingers. "No, that's not right. Your last name – for some reason, I get the feeling that that's an even larger secret than this."

Harry stayed miserably silent.

" _God_ , Harry! What sort of person do you think I _am_! _I_ am a Dark _Creature_ , for crying out loud … did you really think I would _care_ if you exhibited a simple ability that's commonly supposed to be dark?"

"Well, obviously you _do_." The spirit spat back, stung.

" _No!_ " Remus replied vehemently before the final word had even finished leaving Harry's mouth. "I personally don't _care_ whether you can talk to snakes or not. What _I_ find insulting is that you couldn't trust me enough to tell me the truth."

Harry's mouth twisted. "I notice that Lily hasn't a clue that you're a werewolf." He observed.

Remus flinched, but quickly recovered. "I am also not, and have never been, as close to Lily as I thought – I suppose I should say 'hoped' – we were."

"Damn it, Remus …" Harry's voice had returned to its normal volume … perhaps even quieter. "… it's not like this is new, you know. You _knew_ I had secrets. You _knew_ I wasn't comfortable with telling them to you. And the way you're reacting now hardly does anything but affirm my convictions that keeping quiet was the right thing to do. If this is going to be how you react every time …"

"Harry …" Remus' eyes were sad. "This in no way changes my opinion of the sort of person you are. You're still Harry to me. No matter what happens, that will never change. But I like you. A lot. And because of that, I can't help but want to know more about you. Especially when I know so little." He laughed a little, self-consciously. "Especially when you already seem to know everything about me."

"I never knew you were an only child." Harry said, still quietly. "I still don't know what you did in the years between when you graduated and when you came back to Hogwarts to teach in my third year – though judging from the threadbare state of your clothing, it was probably nothing terribly good to you." A snort. "Actually, I don't even really know what-all you got up to while you _were_ still here at Hogwarts, barring a few of the more colorful incidents. I don't try to convince you to tell me about those episodes of your life you'd rather not share …" a sigh, as Harry ran his hand through his hair. "The Parseltongue thing might seem small, but it's just another facet of something … of everything I was hoping this second chance at living, if not at life, would allow me to escape." A piercing look. "I don't make you confess your secrets … please allow me to keep mine."

"Is there something you want to know about me?" Remus spread his arms. "Ask. I have no secrets from you, Harry. I _trust_ you with my secrets. I trust you with myself. I know you won't betray that trust." He pinned Harry with his own piercing look. "Can you say the same of me?"

Harry's downcast eyes and the way his face turned ever so slightly away were answer enough. "That's what I thought."

"I … I'm sorry, I just can't."

"Then perhaps you ought to leave." Remus said quietly. "Go back home, to the people who already know your secrets." His chair seemed to scrape inordinately loudly against the floor as he stood and walked to the door. "Go be with the people you trust, since you obviously can't trust any of us."

And left.

* * *

_It was for the best_. He whispered to himself, a silent mantra to ward off the pain. It took so much willpower to not just turn around and walk back through that door; to keep walking away and _not_ turn back and beg Harry to forgive him for being such a loudmouthed fool. A fool who'd said things he didn't mean, overly influenced by his hurt feelings.

Except …

Well, there was no doubt in his mind that his feelings had been hurt. That was rather an understatement of the fact, actually. It was true, what Harry had said, that he should have expected it … that he should have realized the depths of Harry's mistrust. That it shouldn't hurt this much.

But _damn_ it. He was a _Dark Creature_ , for crying out loud. What on earth could possibly have given Harry the idea that he would care – _at all_ – about the other boy's supposedly dark power? Surely _that_ secret could have been safely shared with him, even if there were so many others that (evidently) could not.

Oh, and it rankled, when realized – not with any concrete proof, but it felt right – that Snape had known; Peter had _certainly_ known, before he had caught even a clue. Peter, he couldn't fault too much – there _were_ certain side effects to sharing the same head-space, he suspected – but _Snape_? That _Snape_ was deemed worthier of trust than himself … that hurt, too.

But regardless of how ill-used he felt (and he certainly did), that wasn't the point. That wasn't why he'd said what he did – at least not there at the last. That came from _him_ , from the cool head people always claimed he had. And he _wanted_ to go back in there and beg for forgiveness, claim temporary loss of sanity … but he knew that if he did, he'd only be lying to them both.

He just had to keep walking.

"Are you happy now?" The angry voice struck him, only a moment before a hand landed on his shoulder and jerked him around. Peter stared up at him – along with a veritable catalogue of other physical faults, the rat Animagus was also, well … short. "He took your advice. He left. _Does that make you happy?!_ "

Wrapped around Peter's arm, a pointed reminder of the fact that he could no longer change because there was no longer anyone around to change into, the snake hissed – it seemed angry as well.

Fists balled, his friend looked like he would like absolutely nothing better than to hit him. Hard. And for a moment … Remus thought perhaps he'd welcome that pain. But finally, Peter just shook his head and made a deeply disgusted noise. "Oh, never mind. Just – never mind. I'll talk to you again later, when I feel less like beating you into a bloody pulp." And he turned smartly on his heels and headed down the hall, pointedly in the opposite direction Remus had been heading.

 _Am I happy?_ Remus sighed and leaned against the wall. _Of course I'm not bloody happy. I miss the stupid spirit already, and it's been less than five minutes. I can't wait to see him again … I guess that makes_ me _the stupid one._

He gazed up towards the ceiling, as if imploring some silent deity. _I'm not happy … but I hope he is. He's back where he belongs now._

_It's for the best. I just have to believe that._

He just wished it wasn't quite so hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 28 February 2005  
> 11 September 2012  
> 19 April 2019


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and welcome back to Coexistence. Glad to have you all here and … I'm just going to disclaim and get out of the way, because I don't have anything else interesting to say.
> 
> Oh – thank you to everyone who has encouraged me on both the pacing of the story and the speed of the updates. I was truly not fishing for compliments … but it's nice to receive them anyway.
> 
> Harry Potter et al. do not belong to me. Everyone believes me, right? Good.
> 
> (11/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

Harry wanted to be alone.

Want was, perhaps, too weak a word. He _needed_ to be alone; needed to be someplace where, even if there were people, none of them acknowledged his existence. If there were people around, people who knew him, people who could _see_ him … well. They'd probably try to cheer him up.

With no real knowledge of why he was feeling the way he was feeling, the causes, no real frame of reference, anything, they'd try to cheer him up. His friends were good that way.

Peter would be good that way, he bet. Remus, too.

And wasn't that a simply brilliant way to make himself feel better, to think about the source of his current problems? Feelings … Angst. Angst was a good word.

It would help, he decided, if he could bring himself to be truly _angry_ at the werewolf. There was all this hurt, all this ill feeling, and nowhere for it to go except to turn back on himself. He knew Remus. Despite – or perhaps _because_ of – the fact that he changed into a ravenous man-eating (if there was ever fresh meat within range, at least) beast once a month, the older boy didn't have a vicious bone in his body.

Leading him to the conclusion that it was a great deal harder to be righteously angry when he _knew_ that Remus wasn't just saying things out of some disgusting fascination with hurting Harry; that he said those things because he thought they needed to be said.

It just really wasn't fair.

And he wanted to dwell on that, at length, without anyone – Merlin, especially without the elder Remus, because wouldn't that be awkward beyond belief? – around to shake him out of his self-pity. Which meant one logical place, he supposed, would be Gryffindor Tower. He could hang around Ron and Hermione with great confidence; they hadn't seen him yet so he was quite sure they wouldn't be able to see him now.

But there was wallowing, and there was wallowing, and slapping himself in the face with the fact that his closest friends – the only people who _did_ know most or all of his secrets, unlike the entire bloody world, the way Remus seemed to think – would not be able to see him if he marched around stark naked, painted blue, with a 'Kiss Me, I'm the Saviour of the Wizarding World' sign on his back … well. He might have been in a decidedly wallowing mood, but he just wasn't quite that masochistic.

Nor was he really in the mood to hang around the graveyard – either one. Again, there was wallowing … and then there was just being plain morbid.

He closed his eyes, trying for that feeling that had allowed him to – he supposed Apparate was as good a word as any – to where Ron was. Apparition without a clearly specified destination was a one-way ticket to suicide in the real world … but it wasn't like there was anything that could hurt him now, was there? And it wasn't like 'take me to where Ron is' had been a proper location specification either. Now if he could just get a handle on it … there! A brief shiver ran through him, but no other significant effects – yet when he reopened his eyes, he found himself in an entirely different place.

Ron's room, back at the Burrow. _Figures._ Not really all that high on his list of places he felt like being at the moment, but the hint of voices coming from down below quelled his intention of moving on immediately. He crept out of the room and toward the banister, then remembered that it wasn't like anyone was around to see him, and whether he was tiptoeing or stomping with all his might, it wasn't like anyone would hear the impact of his feet on the inch and a half of air above the floor.

So, in one of those don't-try-this-at-home-kids moves, he simply vaulted over the railing, making a perfect silent landing on the ground floor.

"Pettigrew? Truly?"

And froze. Whatever he had been expecting to hear, it hadn't been that.

"Yes, our son captured Pettigrew." This, Harry was fairly certain, would be Mr. Weasley, voice torn between pride at his son's accomplishments and anger that Ron would ever be so foolish as to put his life in such blatant danger; the first voice he was equally sure had been Mrs. Weasley. "Sirius is ecstatic – or rather, he would be, if not for … well, you know. He's taking it hard."

"We all are." Mrs. Weasley's voice wavered; there was a rustle of fabric and as Harry peeked around the door, he saw the two of them hugging. "I – Arthur, I _know_ I should be happy that You-Know-Who's gone, and I _am_ , but …"

"You'd almost rather have them both be alive?" Mrs. Weasley stiffened, and her husband patted her on the back. "I know, love. I know. I feel the same way … I think a lot of us do."

"It's _criminal_ , Arthur. I honestly think that boy thought it was his _duty_ to kill You-Know-Who any way he could. He should have _known_ we would be there to support him … that we'd do the job if we could."

"Now, Molly … it's nothing so bad as that. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"'Now' yourself! _You_ may not have been listening when that sweet Hermione girl was talking, but _I_ was. She found it in his belongings, Arthur, a scrap of parchment that gave instructions on how to do that spell he evidently used. _And_ some of the consequences. _And_ notes in his own hand-writing on other potential consequences he'd dug up in his research. He might not have expected the timing, but little Harry was planning from the beginning on using that spell to stop You-Know-Who! Try and make excuses for _that_."

Mr. Weasley sounded defeated. "I can't. As much as I like the boy, I don't – didn't – know him very well. I can only guess at what was going through his mind … and wish that he had trusted us more."

Mrs. Weasley crumpled again. "I miss him, Arthur."

"So do I."

Unable to bear being silent witness to yet more evidence of the unintended consequences of his death, Harry fled.

* * *

When he reopened his eyes, they could not immediately tell him anything of note – aside from the fact that it was really quite dark. He would have reached out to try and feel his way around … but, well, that kind of required the ability to touch – one ability he had yet to demonstrate in this form.

Despite the fact that there was no point and would have even less effect, he kicked out anyway; trying to do _something_ to dispel the rising frustration and depression.

"It's like everything I touch goes _wrong_!" He finally burst; speaking instead of just thinking because, well, who was going to be around to listen to him, and even if they were around, what were the chances that they'd actually realize he was there? "Can't be a proper nephew, can't be a proper wizard, God knows I'm not nearly the friend Ron and Hermione deserve … can't be a proper savior of the wizarding world; I can't even bloody _die_ properly!"

And what did _they_ know about him, anyway? They went on and on about how he shouldn't have sacrificed himself, like it was morally wrong for a fourteen-year-old to take out a vicious enemy that showed no compunctions about killing and torturing anyone and everyone in his way. Including fourteen-year-old boy saviors.

Sure, he would have _liked_ to have lived, but he wished they'd be a bit more realistic! Voldemort had about fifty years on him in experience and who knew how much more raw power – everyone expected Harry to be the massively powerful saviour of the wizarding world just because, well, of course your saviour is powerful. How could he not be?

In his day, Tom Riddle had been a brilliant student, Slytherin prefect for two years and then Head Boy. Had he been at all interested in Quidditch, Harry was sure he would have excelled at that, too. Harry, on the other hand –Quidditch was just about _all_ he excelled at. Quidditch and using sheer bloody luck to get out of all sorts of awful scrapes.

The point was – and this was something he felt certain all the adults had missed – he _had_ been appointed saviour. And that's not just something that goes away; the ravenous public never even considers cutting you a bit of slack because you had just barely mastered drooling at the time you allegedly saved the world.

He had been appointed and then left to his own devices. If Ron's parents were really so serious about protecting him, where had they been all those other times he had gotten himself into serious trouble and escaped through nothing more than pure luck? Standing on the sidelines with everyone else, ignoring the signs (honestly, since when is an eleven-year-old better at putting the clues together than a whole host of adults?) when the bad stuff was going down, and then cooing over his abused body after the fact, that's where.

With that track record, he really wished someone would explain to him _why_ they seemed to think that this time would have been any different. Perhaps, he supposed cynically, because this time all that was left to coo over was an urn of ashes.

"No, it's because they care for you. And people who care, well … we occasionally have problems seeing the real issues, instead of just what we want to see. Until something shocking enough happens that we are forced out of our dream world."

Harry whipped around, shielding his eyes out of habit at the unexpected brightness of the lantern, even though he supposed his retinas were long past the point where he needed to worry about burning them out. A bit embarrassed, he wondered, "How much of that was out loud?"

Bill Weasley – for that was who held the lantern; it made Harry wonder if perhaps he was just fated to meet Weasleys today – said, "I'd guess most of it; I got here about the time you started sticking your feet halfway through the wall."

Now he felt even more embarrassed. "Er …"

"Don't worry about it." The 'cool' Weasley shrugged. "Everyone needs to let off a little steam now and then. I'd even be willing to lend an ear – although I've got a few last vaults to check out before I can really take a sit down to listen properly."

Harry briefly considered fleeing again. Maybe this time he'd land someplace legitimately deserted. "Oh, that's okay, you don't have to …" The lantern flashed directly in his face again.

"Let me rephrase that." Bill said. "From what little I heard, it sounds like you have a lot riding on you, and it sounds like death hasn't made it at all easier. I _want_ to hear about it. I would like to get to know you better, Harry. Listening to you … I admit before, I had always labeled you 'Boy Who Lived' and 'Ron's best friend' and left it at that. But that's not really fair to you. So, if you are willing to wait about ten more minutes, I really _would_ like to talk."

There was something strange in Bill's voice, but Harry was helpless to figure out what it was. "I'd like to get to know you better, since I never bothered to do so back when you were alive. Call it my own bit of penance for not being there when you needed me."

Harry was left speechless – which Bill evidently took as consent. "Good. Thanks."

It wasn't until several minutes later that it occurred to Harry to ask, "Wait … you can see and hear me?"

Bill looked up only briefly from his inspection – both the lock involved and the inspecting process looking fiendishly complicated to Harry's untrained eye – and spared only a distracted, "Well, of course. Can't everyone?"

* * *

Bill's office – which is where he ended up leading the still-confused ghost – was small but surprisingly comfortable. Harry actually spared a moment to miss being corporeal – the chair across from Bill's desk really did look inviting.

"How's the public taking it? My death, I mean." Harry asked, as he settled for hovering about an inch above the comfortable-looking chair.

Bill huffed a sigh – the sort that would have sent his fringe flying upwards had he had any. "There's been a huge uproar, of course. Sad as I am to admit it, it certainly does lend a certain credence to your 'saviour' theory – people are acting like chickens with their heads cut off, wondering how the wizarding world will survive without you."

Harry smiled mirthlessly. "Rather a large sea change from when they were all bound and convinced I was stark raving mad, eh?" He shrugged. "It'll survive the same way it did all those years before I was born. Either they'll muddle it out somehow, or they'll pick some other poor average-but-lucky child and toss the saviour title onto him next. Anything to shift the responsibility for actually doing something away from themselves."

"Don't you think that's a bit harsh?"

Harry leveled a Look at the eldest Weasley.

"Okay, perhaps not. Not everyone is like that, though."

"Not everyone, no. But entirely too many of them."

"At least you have Headmaster Dumbledore on your side. He wouldn't do that to you."

Harry snorted. "Dumbledore is a paranoid old man who wouldn't know good intentions if they bit him on the arse."

Bill's eyebrows raised. For a moment, he looked about to protest in Dumbledore's defense, but eventually just said. "Now _that_ sounds like a story. What happened?"

Harry paused. Contemplated. Finally shrugged, figuring 'in for a penny, in for a pound'. "Well, there's a bit of background you need to know first … first off, when I died, I didn't exactly come back _here_ immediately …"

* * *

"Wow." Bill said when Harry finished the abbreviated version of his story. "You really _have_ been through a lot recently, haven't you?" Elbows on the desk surface, he rested his chin on his hands. "I admit I don't really understand why you refused to tell everyone your last name, either. It sounds like it would have been really helpful – especially in convincing the Headmaster that you were sincere."

"That's part of it, actually." Harry made a face. "That would be like taking the easy way out. And part of me would always suspect – well, really, outright _know_ – that the only reason he trusted me was because I'm a Potter, and of _course_ Potters can't be anything but Light."

"And that's not right, either." Bill said slowly. "I'll agree to that." He lifted his chin just enough to release one hand to engage in a 'go on' motion. "And the other reasons?"

Harry sighed, resisting the urge to curl up with his knees against his chest. He really did _not_ need to look any more vulnerable and defensive than he did already. "That's … a bit harder to explain. It's … there I'm free to _not_ be a Potter. And I don't want to give that up."

He raised his hand. "I know, I know, 'What's wrong with being a Potter?'." Bill closed his mouth. "Being a Potter means that I became the Boy-Who-Lived. They already know about James and Lily dying; if it came out that I was their son, that would raise question of how I was still alive, which means that the whole Boy-Who-Lived mess would probably come out, too."

He ticked off a second finger. "Being a Potter earned me the hatred of my aunt, uncle, and cousin, which in turn had a pretty big impact on the happiness – or lack thereof – of my childhood." Another hand raised. "Please. Spare me the platitudes. It's over and done with and nothing has scarred me too horribly."

Third finger. "Yes, at first I was flattered when everyone told me how much like my dad I was. But they did it too much. There's a point beyond which I'd like to be known as 'Harry', not as 'James Potter's son and isn't it just so amazing how much like his father he is?'." A pause. "Besides which, now I've actually met the guy. And if he grew up anything like his teenage years, I don't actually see it as a compliment."

"I'm sure they meant it as one." Bill offered; there wasn't really anything he could do to refute the rest of it. "I know I've only ever heard good of the man." A pause. "Except from Snape." A shared grin.

Harry had tired of ranting and explaining for the moment; had he still had a corporeal throat he suspected he would have been thoroughly parched. Bill, for his part, seemed to have decided that he'd forbear with asking any more questions for the moment; he seemed to be idly fiddling with some paperwork.

A question that had been percolating in the back of Harry's brain slowly moved forward and made itself known. "Bill … do you know if there was a Claudius Malfoy, in this timeline?"

The redhead stilled, then slowly put his pen down, hand shaking with suppressed emotion. "… Yes." He whispered. "And not a day goes by that I don't …" His fists clenched until the skin around the knuckles were white.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

The tension did not decrease in the slightest. "I don't … I never found out. I think my father knows … but if he does, he never saw fit to mention that to _me_. After all," and here's where Bill's share of bitterness found its way in, "he was only a _Malfoy_. And who 'decent' cares about them?"

"When was it?" Harry's voice was quiet; it was intuitively obvious that here he was treading on uncertain ground.

"My third year. Easter." Bill stared through the desk, a haunted look to his eyes. "He went home … we were planning on going together, and hang convention, but then I … I don't even remember, anymore, what happened, but I ended up not going after all." His voice, still that rasped whisper from before, sank low enough to where Harry was hard-pressed to hear it at all. "And he never came back."

They shared a moment of silence for a young Ravenclaw who had, most likely, been only one of many to fall afoul of the Dark Lord – and pay with their life.

"That's why I had to stop him, any way I could." Harry said quietly, after the silence had held long enough. "For people like Claudius, and Professor Snape, and Cedric … anyone his corrosive influence has touched."

"You may not believe it." Bill replied, just as quietly, "But there are other people who believe as you do, and who would go to equally great lengths to do what you did." _I am one of them_ was not stated outright, but the implication was obvious even to Harry.

"But they weren't there, and I was." Harry replied. "They didn't know the spell, and I did."

"And that, I think, is why they feel so guilty. Because they think they should have been the ones standing in your place; they think yours is another innocent life lost needlessly."

Harry considered that for a moment. He had already made his protests; there seemed to be little point in repeating them. Finally, he said slowly, "… So what?" He paused, as if to gather his thoughts. "Perhaps my life is innocent, although I hope you will allow me to beg to differ. But in the end, _I_ made the choice to spend it. It was a choice made entirely of my own free will. Even if they had been there, I would probably have still made that choice."

He paused. "And I think that's the point. It was _my_ choice. And whatever they say, I think that really, the only person that should make my choices for me is me. Whether it's how much I study or when and how I die … that's my choice."

Harry snorted suddenly. "Besides … Voldemort had just been resurrected, I was surrounded by his loyal Death Eaters, was injured from the maze, not to mention dripping all over the place from where Pettigrew drew my blood …" out of a sort of gruesome habit, he rubbed at the knotty scar that still remained even in his ghostly form "… what are the chances that I would have actually survived, anyway?"

"As you yourself said, you've gotten out of some pretty bad scrapes before." Bill pointed out. "But I guess we'll never know, now, what life might have been like had you lived. Or if you would have."

"No … no, I don't." Harry agreed. "But, knowing what I know now … it's amazing there, Bill. I wish you could see it. I mean, yes, Voldemort still exists, but it's so much easier to forget … and the people …"

"One person in particular, perhaps?" Harry had been doing a good job of staunchly avoiding Bill's eyes, but his voice expressed the same … sympathy? gentleness? … warmth as Harry suspected his eyes would have.

"I – that is …" He didn't know how well ghosts could blush, but he figured at the moment he was certainly making his best effort. "It's not …"

"Don't say 'like that'." Bill interrupted, suddenly serious. "I intentionally never said anything about what it was or was not. It's obvious to anyone that Remus is someone special to you, Harry. Don't demean that."

"I … you're right." Harry smiled weakly. "He is. And not knowing … I mean, I'm sure he hates me now. And I can't bear that." He pressed his hands halfway through his head before regaining control and making a pretense of rubbing his temples, wishing he could at least touch _himself_. "He was absolutely right, you know. I should have trusted him … with that, with everything. But it's so hard … and the worst thing is … I still don't want to tell him.

"It's like … if I pretend long enough and hard enough that I'm not Potter, that I'm not the Boy-Who-Lived, that all I am is a dead boy named Harry who may have done his part to save the world, but isn't really all that remarkable otherwise … I keep hoping maybe one day I'll wake up and it'll be the truth."

"I sincerely doubt that he hates you." Harry's head shot up, but he managed to remember to avoid Bill's eyes by a hair's breadth. "I have no doubt that he was hurt – to be fair, I'm sure you would have been too, even if you had known he was keeping secrets from you. And people who are hurt often lash out in ways they regret later."

Harry shook his head. "You don't understand. He was … so cold. At first, yes, I could see him as having been lashing out. But – no, he seemed to really believe I ought to leave. He really … didn't want me there anymore."

"Over that small a matter? I doubt it, Harry. I'm sure he was just angry and hurt … he's probably sitting there right now, hoping that you'll come back soon so that he can apologize to you for being such an unfeeling bastard."

"He's not unfeeling! Or a bastard!" Harry protested indignantly.

Bill laughed, and ruffled the space where Harry's hair would have been – not a terribly effective gesture, but Harry appreciated the thought. "I know that and you know that … but this is another of those things about people. We tend to be inclined to believe the worst about ourselves."

Looking back on what he knew of Remus and his self-confidence issues, Harry had to agree with that particular assessment at least.

"I think you should go back." Harry tensed. "Look at me, Harry. From what you've said so far, that seems to be the trigger."

"But …"

"You're never going to know if you don't go back there and ask." Bill pointed out. "And this may be the time into which you were born … but you and I both know where your heart lies. Go to him. Ask him why he said the things he said. Tell him …" Seeing the look of instinctive refusal on Harry's face, Bill's tone gentled even further.

"Tell him what you just told me, about the young dead boy named Harry. He'll understand, I think. If he's even half as special a person you think he is … if he's anything like the Remus I know in this time … I think he'll understand."

Something clicked, and it occurred to Harry that this sounded a lot like the advice he had given a younger Bill on the subject of Claudius Malfoy. Not exactly the same, perhaps not even as similar as it seemed – but the perceived similarity caused a bubble of hilarity to rise in his throat.

He was probably grinning like a fool, and like a fool he had no real idea why. _You can dish it out, but you can't take it, can you?_ And perhaps that sniping inner comment was what firmed his resolve, as he nodded once.

_Tell me to go back where I belong? Where my friends, where the people I trust are? Well, too bad for you, Remus … I may have friends here, though we have been forced apart, but you're my friend too. Like it or not, you're stuck with me now. And I'm going to prove it. There's no getting away from me now._

A new blaze of resolve lit in his heart (how cliché that sounded … but was there any other word for the heated feeling in his chest?), and he straightened. "Thanks, Bill. For everything."

"Thank _you_ , Harry, for sharing your time with me."

The triumphant background music, had there been any, would have faltered, as Harry fought embarrassment at the sincere tone in Bill's voice.

"So you're going to do it, then?" Fingers brushed through the space where his chin would have been, and both of them fought a sudden chill; this time it was Bill's cheeks who reddened slightly in embarrassment. "Good luck."

Of his own free will and entirely intentionally, Harry's head rose and he met Bill's eyes squarely, clear green to murky brown.

_Ready or not, here I come!_

* * *

"Percy's gotten sick, again, and Charlie's down with the chicken pox …" He waved his hands in broad gestures. "Dad's taking off work, but with Mum's latest pregnancy being the hardest on her yet, it's …"

"You feel like you ought to be at home helping. I understand." The blond looked past him, his eyes sad and oddly blank. There was a pause, long and uncomfortable and waited. "Well … another time, perhaps."

"Yeah …" The silence stretched. "… I'll see you after break."

"… Yeah." In a flurry of controlled movement, the blond turned to leave.

There was a knot in his throat, and a growing sick feeling to his stomach. _If you let him go now, this is the last time you'll ever see him again._ He didn't know the source of this feeling, not yet, but his belief in it was absolute. And before such a feeling, what else could he possibly do?

" _Claudi! Wait!"_ Bill Weasley yelled, running to catch up with his friend.

"What?" The Ravenclaw asked, stopping his movement away, although he did not turn to look back.

"I … you know my family is important to me. But you're important too." Bill grinned at his friend's back. "I ought to go home … but with my dad there, they should be fine. They won't be happy with me – but," he flicked at his faux earring, enjoying the way it jingled in his ear, "it's not like that's exactly a new thing either."

"So …" He sidled around in front of his friend, who looked like he had just barely decided against turning away again, and peered desperately at his face for any sign of comprehension. Bill somehow managed to keep on grinning, though he felt less and less in the mood to, as the blond's face retained its closed expression. "… I guess what I'm trying to say is … is the offer still open?"

And slowly, Claudius Malfoy began to smile back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9 April 2005  
> 11 September 2012  
> 19 April 2019
> 
>  **The AU issue:** The question has come up quite frequently as to what the relationship between the past and future worlds is. As this is something that may very well not be discussed in the story proper, I thought I'd soliloquize a bit now.
> 
> The past may or may not have been the original past of the present time. I'm guessing not, myself … James didn't look like he was planning on having a crisis of conscience and rescuing Snape anytime soon to me. But regardless of that, the ripples Harry has created due to his presence have branched it off quite firmly. (Ugh … a diagram would be so helpful right now …) And it is a branching off; the original past remains undisturbed and trundles its merry way on to the original present.
> 
> Eventually, this changed past will make its own way towards becoming a changed future, and the two will continue to exist in parallel, only the presence of Harry in both giving any clue to their original kinship.
> 
> (Short answer: No, nothing Harry does in the past affects the present.)

**Author's Note:**

> 1 December 2002  
> 20 April 2005  
> 3 August 2011  
> 28 August 2012


End file.
